mETIVES   FOR^ 
XOMIET  HO\lRS!i4 

GEORGE  M71THESON 


tihraxy  of  trhe  trheolo^ical  ^tminavy 

PRINCETON  •  NEW  JERSEY 
PRESENTED  BY 

The  ZstRte   of  the 
Rev.  John  B,  Wie dinger 


BV  4832  .M36  1905  ^ 

Matheson,  George,  1842-1906 
Leaves  for  quiet  hours 


LEAVES    FOR    QUIET    HOURS. 


By  GEORGE  MATHESON 

D.D.,  LL.D. 

Studies  of  the  Portrait  of  Christ 

Complete  in  two  crown  octavo  volumes, 
I3.50.  Vol.  I.  in  nth  thousand,  vol.  II. 
in  6th  thousand.  Sold  separately,  per 
vol.,  cloth,  $1.75. 

"  Certainly  no  more  original  study  of  the  life  of  Christ  has 
appeared  since  '  Ecce  Homo.'  " — The  Bookman. 

The  Representative  Men  of  the  Bible 

Two  volumes,  crown  octavo,  cloth, 
J53.50.      Separately,  ?i.75  per  volume. 

<'  As  a  poetical  expositor  of  Biblical  themes,  Dr„  Matheson  is 
unsurpassed.  His  *  Enoch  the  Immortal,'  '  Abraham  the  Cos- 
mopolitan,' *  Isaac  the  Domesticated,'  and  others  in  his  gallery 
of  statues,  serve  as  lay  figures  for  an  investiture  of  thought,  philo- 
sophic, religious,  original,  of  wYiioh.  all  must  acknowledge  the 
charm."  —  The   Outlook. 

"  We  doubt  whether  there  is  now  in  print  a  more  beautiful  and 
suggestive  series  of  biographical  studies  of  the  familiar  heroes  of  the 
Old  Testament  times." — Northivestern  Christian  Ad-vocate. 

Moments  on  the  Mount 

A  Series  of  Devotional  Meditations. 
i2mo.      Cloth,  $1.25. 

A  devotional  book  of  great  power  and  insight  of  which  many 
thousands  have  been  sold. 

"  Eminently  spiritual  and  suggestive." — The  Interior. 

Voices  of  the  Spirit 

i2mo.     Cloth,  I1.25. 

NEW  YORK  CINCINNATI 

EATON  &  MAINS  JENNINGS  &  GRAHAM 


LEAVE 


FOR 


QUIET    HOURS 


BY 


GEORGE  MATHESON,  F.R.S.E.,  D.D.,  LL.D. 

(Formerly  Minister  of  the  Parish  of  St.  Bernard's,  Edinburgh) 

AUTHOR    OF   "THE   REPRESENTATIVE   MEN  OF  THE  BIBLE** 

<«  STUDIES     OF     THE     PORTRAIT     OF     CHRIST  " 

<«  MOMENTS  ON  THE  MOUNT,*'   ETC. 


New   York:    EATON    &    MAINS 

Cincinnati  :  JENNINGS  &  GRAHAM 

1905 


PREFACE. 


At  the  request  of  the  Editor  of  "The 
Christian  World"  I  have  embraced  in 
a  volume  some  of  the  short  devotional 
pieces  v^hich  from  time  to  time  I  have 
been  contributing  to  that  paper.  I  have 
been  induced  to  do  so  by  the  fact  that 
so  many  have  found  them  helpful  and 
have  made  me  aware  of  the  benefit  they 
have  received.  A  few  minutes  will  suffice 
to  read  any  one  of  these.  Each  consists 
of  two  parts.  The  first  is  the  suggestion 
of  a  thought;  the  second  is  the  expression 
of  a   feeling  —  either   in   the   form   of  a 


ii  Preface. 

prayer  or  of  an  invocation.  But  I  hope 
that  these  two  parts  will  never  be  divided 
in  holy  wedlock — that  every  fresh  thought 
will  be  tinged  with  the  heart's  emotion, 
and  that  every  emotion  of  the  heart  will 
be  winged  by  the  inspiration  of  a  thought. 
A  devotional  book  is  beheved  to  be  a 
very  simple  thing.  It  ought  to  be  the 
most  difficult  composition  in  the  world, 
for  it  should  aim  at  the  marriage  of 
qualities  which  are  commonly  supposed 
to  be  antagonistic  —  the  insight  of  the 
thinker  and  the  fervour  of  the  worshipper. 
My  own  conviction  has  increasingly  been 
that  the  hours  of  our  deepest  devotion 
are  precisely  in  those  moments  when  we 
catch  fresh  ghmpses  of  hidden  things. 

G.   M. 

Edinburgh,  1904. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

The  Main  Use  of  the  Christian  Armour 7 

Sincerity lo 

The  Consecration  of  the  Natural 13 

The  Revelation  of  Inward  Resources 16 

The  Benefit  of  Gratitude 19 

The  Road  to  Salvation 22 

The  Root  of  Sympathy 25 

The  Influence  of  Heaven  on  Earth 28 

Christianity  and  Solitude 31 

The  Medical  Aspect  of  Religion 34 

Love's  Dominion 37 

The  Sick-Room  of  Humanity 40 

Dawn  at  Dusk 43 

The  Confession  of  Memory 46 

The  Soul's  Rest 49 

The  Substitute  for  Revelation 51 

The  Hidden  Thorn 54 

The  Ambulance  Corps 57 

The  Influence  of  Personality 60 


vi  Contents. 

PAGE 

The  Place  of  Faith  in  Religion 237 

Christ's  Unfinished  Work 240 

The  Child  Jesus  among  the  Doctors 243 

The  Beginning  of  Human  Ambitions 246 

The  Retrospective  Revelation 249 

The  Cure  which  Was  Only  Partial 252 

The  Glory  of  Cana's  Miracle 255 

The  Secret  of  Good  Health 258 

The  Comfort  in  Divine  Retribution 261 

The  First  Hereditary  Transmission 264 

The  Cure  of  Moral  Ignorance 267 

The  Tested  Refuge 270 

The  First  Charter  of  Womanhood 273 

The  Conviction  of  Sin 276 

The  Charm  of  Tranquillity 279 

The  Primal  Thing  which  Should  Be  Permanent 282 

The  Reticence  of  the  Bible 286 


LEAVES  FOR  QUIET  HOURS 


THE  MAIN   USE  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN 
ARMOUR. 

"Wherefore  take  unto  you  the  whole  armour  of  God,  that 
ye  may  be  able  to  withstand  in  the  evil  day,  and  having  done 
all,  to  stand."— Ephesians  vi.  13. 

What  a  strange  conclusion  to  so  martial  a 
war-cry !  The  soldier  is  generally  told  to  put 
on  his  armour  for  the  sake  of  the  battle ;  here 
it  is  for  the  sake  of  the  camp.  To  the  com- 
mon view  the  arduous  thing  in  a  Christian's 
life  is  the  hour  of  conflict;  to  Paul  it  is  the 
hour  after  conflict.  If  you  or  I  had  written 
this  verse  we  should  have  put  it  thus  :  "  Take 
unto  you  the  whole  armour  of  God,  that  ye 
may  be  able  to  stand  awaiting  the  foe,  and 
finally  to  withstand  when  the  foe  has  come." 
But  Paul  reverses  the  process.  To  him  the 
withstanding  is  the  less  difficult  of  the  two. 


8  Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

The  greatest  danger  he  sees  for  the  Christian 
soldier  is  just  at  the  point  where  he  has  "  done 
all."  And  is  not  Paul  right  in  his  percep- 
tion !  Is  not  the  arduous  bit  of  a  Christian's 
life  rather  the  camp  than  the  field  !  When  a 
man  feels  he  is  surrounded  by  a  great  cloud 
of  witnesses,  it  is  comparatively  easy  to  lay 
aside  every  weight.  But  when  there  is  no 
outward  battle,  no  visible  foe,  no  possible 
wreath  for  the  victor,  when  the  field  is  his 
own  heart  and  the  enemy  his  own  wish  and 
the  spectator  his  own  conscience,  when  there 
is  no  human  voice  to  cry  "Well  done!"  and 
no  public  opinion  to  say  "  He  has  fought  a 
good  fight !  " — that  is  the  time  when  he  needs 
the  Christian  armour. 

Lord,  arm  me  for  the  silence!  Often  in 
my  hour  of  trial  I  am  brave  when  duty  has  to 
be  done  and  weak  when  it  is  over.  In  the 
first  fire  of  my  bereavement  I  have  to  rise  up 
from  before  my  dead.  There  are  letters  to  be 
written ;  there  are  sad  offices  to  be  per- 
formed ;  there  are  friends  to  be  bidden  to  the 
funeral.  And  I  go  through  them  calmly;  I 
feel  as  if  something  supported  me ;  men  say, 
"  How  bravely  he  bears  it !  "     But  when  the 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.  9 

letters  are  finished,  and  the  funeral  over,  and 
the  friends  gone,  then  comes  the  misery,  the 
despair.  Save  me,  O  Lord !  save  me  from 
my  own  companionship !  Protect  me  from 
the  solitude  of  my  heart ;  arm  me  against 
myself!  I  have  been  strong  in  the  hour  of 
outward  battle  because  I  heard  the  voices  of 
human  sympathy  ;  let  me  hear  the  voice  of  a 
greater  sympathy  for  the  watch  of  night ! 
I  was  able  to  withstand  in  the  day  because 
there  was  work  to  be  done ;  help  me  in  the 
shadows  when  no  man  can  work  !  Teach  me 
that  the  heart  has  a  duty  greater  than  the 
hand !  Teach  me  that  I  am  not  a  perfect 
soldier  when  I  can  only  fight !  Teach  me 
that  the  courage  which  can  endure  is  nobler 
than  the  courage  which  can  strike !  Teach 
me  the  heroism  of  Gethsemane,  where  Thou 
hadst  finished  the  work  that  was  given  Thee 
to  do  and  hadst  only  the  weight  that  was 
given  Thee  to  bear!  Thou  hast  girded  me 
with  the  sword  for  the  tumult ;  clothe  me 
with  the  breastplate  for  the  silence!  My 
armour  shall  only  be  complete  when  I  have 
done  all  and  still  shall  stand. 


SINCERITY. 

**  Stand  therefore,  having  your  loins  girt  about  with  truth.'*— 
Ephesians  VI.  14. 

In  arming-  the  Christian  soldier  Paul  puts 
sincerity  before  everything.  His  first  ques- 
tion is  not,  How  much  do  you  believe? 
but,  How  much  do  you  believe  it?  He 
is  less  concerned  with  the  article,  than  with 
the  ardour,  of  my  faith ;  he  is  content  it 
should  be  half-formed,  if  it  be  whole-hearted. 
To  be  girt  with  truth  is  to  be  pervaded  by 
sincerity.  Sincerity  is  just  whole-heartedness. 
It  means,  literally,  without  wax.  You  have 
seen  figures  put  together  with  wax — arti- 
ficially put  together.  At  first  sight  they 
seem  entire,  uniform,  all  of  a  piece;  you 
may  look  at  them  long  without  detecting 
the  imposture.  If  you  want  to  detect  it  at 
once,  you  must  apply  heat  to  them  ;  the  fire 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.  ii 

will  try  every  man's  work,  of  what  sort  it  is. 
Put  heat  to  your  wax  figure,  and  it  will  go  to 
pieces  in  a  moment.  The  fire  will  not  so 
much  destroy  it  as  destroy  its  deception  ;  it 
will  send  it  back  to  its  original  elements — 
ashes  to  ashes,  dust  to  dust.  The  fire  of  God 
does  not  destroy  ;  it  restores  things  to  their 
normal  state.  The  wax  figure  is  the  real 
destroyer.  It  breaks  the  harmony  of  nature  ; 
it  takes  things  out  of  their  place  ;  it  joins 
together  what  God  has  put  asunder.  And  the 
fire  breaks  the  false  union.  It  annuls  the 
marriage  between  a  saintly  aspect  and  a 
selfish  soul.  It  forbids  the  banns  between 
rest  and  recklessness.  It  burns  the  gorgeous 
raiment  of  the  despairing  heart,  and  tells  it 
that  it  is  despairing.  It  withers  the  leaves  of 
the  figtree  which  deceive  by  false  promise  of 
maturity ;  it  separates  the  beauty  and  the 
barrenness  that  have  made  their  home 
together. 

My  soul,  art  thou  sincere  ?  I  do  not  ask  if 
thou  art  consistent.  I  have  seen  the  sun  upon 
the  mountains  while  the  valleys  were  still  in 
shade ;  but  I  did  not  call  the  valleys  insincere. 
I  have  heard  music  on  the  waters  when  the 


12  Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

land  was  in  silence ;  yet  I  did  not,  therefore, 
say  that  the  land  was  untrue.  I  have  seen 
the  primrose  lift  its  head  when  there  was  no 
flower  to  greet  it ;  yet  I  did  not  on  that 
account  deem  it  a  hypocrite.  But  is  it  a 
painted  primrose,  an  artificial  primrose?  I 
can  reverence  any  flower  of  the  heart,  however 
lowly.  I  can  reverence  the  first  bud  of  its 
spring,  for  it  tells  of  the  Christ  that  is  to  be. 
I  can  reverence  the  last  rose  of  its  summer, 
for  it  tells  of  the  Christ  that  has  been  here, 
and,  therefore,  is  not  far  away.  But  I  cannot 
reverence  the  manufactured  flower,  the  paper 
flower,  the  waxen  flower.  I  cannot  reverence 
the  imitation  of  the  structure  when  the  spirit 
is  not  there.  The  time  of  figs  may  not  be 
yet ;  and  there  is  no  blame.  But  do  not 
paint  the  fruit  before  the  time!  Do  not 
deceive  the  thirsty  traveller  by  a  dream  ! 
Do  not  pretend  that  thou  hast  to-day  what 
waits  till  to-morrow!  Do  not  seek  to  shine 
with  more  light  than  is  in  thee!  Thy  light 
may  be  only  a  dawn,  but  God's  dawn  is  better 
than  man's  gilding ;  be  true  to  thyself,  O  my 
soul! 


THE  CONSECRATION  OF  THE 
NATURAL. 

**  Let  the  earth  bring  forth  grass  ....  whose  seed  is  in 
itself  upon  the  earth."— Genesis  I.  ii. 

What  is  the  difference  between  this  day 
of  creation  and  the  previous  days  ?  It  is 
that  for  the  first  time  there  is  a  conse- 
cration of  self-help.  Hitherto,  all  help  had 
come  from  above  —  from  the  light  and  the 
firmament.  Here  the  earth  itself  is  to  be  the 
agent.  Everything  is  to  be  "  after  its  kind ;  '* 
everything  is  to  have  "  the  seed  in  itself.'* 
What  is  meant  is  that  for  the  future  the 
natural  shall  be  counted  Divine.  It  is  a  lesson 
which  we  all  need  to  learn.  We  often  reject 
the  providence  of  a  thing  because  we  say  we 
can  explain  it.  "  Oh,"  we  cry,  "  it  all  hap- 
pened quite  naturally !  "    Why  should  a  thing 


14  Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

be  un-Divine  because  I  can  explain  it !  The 
mystery  is  not  how  it  comes,  but  what  comes 
out  of  it.  The  marriage  of  Rebecca  and  Isaac 
was  quite  natural;  it  was,  humanly  speak- 
ing, accidental — the  result  of  an  act  of  passing 
courtesy ;  but  the  house  of  Israel  came  from 
it.  The  meeting  of  Ruth  with  Boaz  was  quite 
natural — it  came  in  the  way  of  business ;  but 
it  was  the  human  origin  of  Jesus. 

My  soul,  believe  in  the  consecration  of  the 
natural!  Uncover  your  head  in  the  temple 
of  the  commonplace !  Bow  down  to  the 
harmony  God  weaves  out  of  trivial  things ! 
You  meant  to  visit  a  house  on  Tuesday,  but 
some  impulse  made  you  go  on  Monday.  Re- 
verence that  impulse  !  You  met  one  that  day 
who  became  your  life-friend.  In  a  throb 
of  human  pity  you  took  in  a  blind  man  from 
a  thunderstorm.  Reverence  that  human  pity ! 
— the  man  you  preserved  was  Paul.  You  took 
the  road  to  Emmaus  from  a  motive  you 
could  not  define.  Reverence  that  undefined 
motive  ! — you  met  on  that  road  the  man  that 
made  your  heart  burn — Jesus.  It  is  with 
thee,  my  soul,  as  with  the  bee ;  it  flies  from 
flower  to  flower  for  its  own  ends,  but  all  the 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.  15 

time  it  is  making  a  hive.  Even  such  is  thy 
work  below.  Thou  art  pursuing  thy  plea- 
sures, sometimes  without  a  thought  of  God. 
Thou  art  flying  from  flower  to  flower  in  search 
of  idle  vanities ;  thou  art  building  for  a  day 
and  for  the  dust.  But  thou  art  doing  what 
thou  knowest  not.  Thou  art  rearing  a  man- 
sion for  the  skies.  Thou  art  making  a  taber- 
nacle for  the  mount.  Thou  art  constructing 
a  tower  whose  top  shalt  reach  to  heaven  ;  and 
one  day  thou  thyself  shalt  wonder  at  thine 
unconscious  workmanship.  Thou  hast  de- 
signed to  build  a  row  of  cottages,  and  there 
has  emerged  the  City  of  God.  Thou  hast 
sown  thine  own  seed;  but  it  has  issued  in 
God's  tree. 


THE    REVELATION    OF    INWARD 
RESOURCES. 

"  Let  the  waters  under  the  heaven  be  gathered  together  unto 
one  place,  and  let  the  dry  land  appear." — Genesis  I.  9. 

"  Let  the  dry  land  appear  "  !  It  was  already 
there,  though  invisible ;  it  only  wanted  to  be 
revealed.  It  is  a  true  picture  of  most  of  us. 
Much  of  the  Spirit's  creating  work  is  just  the 
bringing  out  of  latent  qualities.  There  are 
many  among  us  we  deem  to  be  all  sea,  and 
who  yet  conceal  within  them  the  elements  of 
solid  land.  How  many  a  frivolous  girl  makes 
a  devoted  wife  and  mother!  You  don't 
imagine  the  frivolity  has  caused  it.  No  ;  the 
frivolity  has  only  covered  it.  It  has  been 
sleeping  below  all  the  time,  waiting  for  the 
dawn  to  wake  it.  And  what  is  it  that  makes 
the  dry  land  appear  ?     It  is  not  so  much  the 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.  17 

giving  of  something  new  as  the  removal  of 
something  old.  It  is  the  taking  away  of  an 
obstruction — "  let  the  waters  be  gathered  unto 
one  place/'  It  is  not  the  want  of  sight  that 
prevents  me  from  seeing  my  possibilities;  it 
is  something  between  me  and  the  sun ;  it  is 
the  shadow  of  myself.  If  I  could  only  get  rid  of 
self-contemplation,  there  would  be  revealed 
within  me  latent  heaps  of  gold. 

Remove  my  shadow,  O  my  God !  Release 
the  imprisoned  land  that  lies  within  my  heart ! 
Give  me  the  power  to  see  what  is  actually  before 
me !  How  many  things  I  see  for  the  first  time 
when  the  obstruction  is  withdrawn  !  I  went  up 
to  the  mount  in  the  morning  with  a  heavy 
heart.  I  thought  there  was  no  escape  from  the 
sacrifice  of  my  Isaac.  By-and-by  I  found  that 
the  sacrifice  was  not  required ;  and  then  I  saw 
what  I  had  never  seen  before— a  ram  caught 
in  a  thicket.  There  was  a  substitute  for  my 
sacrifice.  It  was  there  all  along.  It  was  put 
there  by  Thee,  even  before  I  cried  to  Thee. 
But,  until  I  had  Thy  answer,  I  did  not  see  it ; 
the  shadow  of  my  fear  hid  it.  I  went  out  into 
the  desert  and  found  no  water.  I  uttered  a 
cry  of  despair,  and  there  came  from  Thee  a 


i8  Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

prophecy  of  hope.  And  hope  let  me  see  what 
I  never  saw  before — that  in  this  desert  there 
had  always  been  a  well  of  water  waiting  for 
me.  Even  so,  my  Father,  in  my  seasons  of 
despair  lift  all  my  shadows  !  Clear  away  the 
mist  from  the  top  of  Mount  Moriah  ;  disperse 
the  darkness  from  the  bosom  of  the  desert ! 
Give  me  faith  to  be  healed — faith  to  lift  from 
the  threshold  the  shadow  that  dims  !  Let  the 
waters  of  my  past  trouble  be  gathered  from 
my  soul ;  let  the  stone  of  my  old  sepulchre 
be  rolled  from  the  door !  And  from  the 
hollow  place  within  there  shall  rise  a  buried 
Christ,  and  in  the  scene  of  waves  and  graves 
redemption  shall  appear. 


THE    BENEFIT    OF    GRATITUDE. 

"It  is  a  good  thing  to  give  thanks  unto  the  Lord." — Psalm 
xcii.  I. 

He  means,  it  is  a  good  thing  for  us — it  is  a 
benefit  to  the  mind.  It  prevents  some  great 
diseases.  Let  us  take  but  one — the  remorse 
of  memory.  Do  you  know  what  that  is  ?  It 
is  something  very  different  from  the  remorse 
of  conscience.  The  remorse  of  conscience 
is  the  pain  of  having  done  wrong ;  but  the 
remorse  of  memory  is  the  pain  of  having 
failed  to  enjoy  yourself.  Have  you  ever  felt 
that  r  Have  you  ever  come  to  a  time  in 
which  you  looked  back  upon  the  past,  and 
learned  how  little  you  had  valued  it  r  I  know 
few  moments  so  sore  as  that.  To  find  that 
days  were  happy  when  the  days  are  gone,  to 
learn  that   I  was   passing   through   Elysium 

c  2 


20  Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

and  I  did  not  know  it,  to  see  the  light  on  the 
hill  only  when  it  is  setting — that  is  one  of  the 
saddest  of  all  experiences  to  me,  to  you.  It 
is  the  climax  of  pain  when  I  must  say  with 
the  poetess, 

"  Oh,  while  my  brother  with  me  played, 
Would  I  had  loved  him  more  ! " 

My  soul,  wouldst  thou  be  free  from  that 
pain — that  remorse  of  memory  ?  Thou  mayst 
be  so ;  live  in  present  thanksgiving !  Count 
thy  sunbeams  now  I  Treasure  to-day  the 
gems  that  are  strewn  upon  thy  path  !  The 
love  that  is  merely  retrospective  is  a  very 
painful  thing.  I  would  not  have  thee  wake 
to  the  glory  of  a  past  only  when  it  is  past — 
desire  one  of  the  days  of  the  Son  of  Man  after 
He  has  ascended.  If  thy  days  of  sorrow  at 
any  time  should  cloud  thy  days  of  joy,  I 
should  like  thee  to  be  able  to  say,  "Well, 
while  they  lasted,  I  did  appreciate  them.'* 
There  are  some  who  want  to  feel  at  death 
that  their  life  has  been  a  vain  show.  I  would 
not  have  it  so  with  thee,  O  my  soul.  I 
should  like,  when  death  comes,  to  feel  that  I 
had  thoroughly  enjoyed  life — taken  the  honey 
from  the  flower  as  God  meant  me  to  take  it. 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.  21 

I  should  like  to  know  that  I  had  not  defrauded 
myself  of  my  birthright,  that  I  made  room  for 
others  because  I  had  had  my  share.  It  will 
be  a  great  solace  to  me  at  twilight  that  I 
have  basked  with  conscious  joy  in  the  heat  of 
the  day.  Therefore  I  shall  bask  in  it  now. 
The  cup  of  gladness  which  my  Father  has 
given  me  shall  I  not  drink  it,  even  unto  the 
dregs !  I  shall  thank  Him  for  every  bird  that 
sings.  I  shall  praise  Him  for  every  flower 
that  blows.  I  shall  bless  Him  for  every 
stream  that  warbles.  I  shall  love  Him  for 
every  heart  that  loves.  I  shall  see  the  spark- 
ling of  the  cup  ere  it  passes  to  the  hand  of 
my  brother.  There  shall  be  no  remorse  of 
memory  when  I  have  thanked  God  for  to-day. 


THE    ROAD    TO    SALVATION. 

"  Who  then  can  be  saved?  .  .  .  With  men  it  is  impossible 
but  not  with  God  ;  for  with  God  all  things  are  possible." — 
Mark  x.  26,  27. 

And  so  we  are  nearer  to  salvation  in  the 
hands  of  God  than  in  the  hands  of  man !  I 
used  to  think  the  reverse.  I  used  to  think 
that  the  awful  thing  about  the  judgment-seat 
was  the  sinless  character  of  the  Judge.  Our 
Lord  knew  better.  He  told  men  to  be  thank- 
ful that  the  throne  of  judgment  was  white. 
He  said  that  worldly  people  would  have  no 
chance  if  they  were  brought  before  a  worldly 
tribunal.  Man  cannot  see  the  possibilities  of 
man.  He  beholds  the  flood,  but  not  the 
rainbow.  God  alone  can  see  the  rainbow  in 
my  flood.  My  brother  shuts  the  door  of  his 
heart  early.  Whenever  it  begins  to  be  dusk, 
he   closes    the   gates    of  his   pity.       But   my 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.  23 

Father  keeps  His  gates  open  till  midnight 
on  the  chance  of  the  prodigal's  return.  He 
is  ever  calling  through  the  darkness,  **  Watch- 
man, what  of  the  night  ? "  He  is  ever  listening 
in  the  shadows  for  the  tread  of  my  returning 
footsteps.  He  is  ever  stretching  a  hand 
through  time  **  to  catch  the  far-off  interest 
of  tears."  He  can  hear  my  faintest  murmur 
of  unrest.  He  can  catch  my  softest  sigh  of 
penitence.  He  can  feel  the  smallest  throb 
of  my  heart.  He  can  detect  the  lowest 
breathing  of  my  spirit.  For  my  brother  it 
would  be  impossible  to  hear  anything,  to  feel 
anything,  to  hope  anything.  He  would  look 
at  me  and  say  that  I  was  dead;  my  Father 
would  say,  "  Behold,  he  prayeth  !  " 

O  Thou  on  whose  white  apparel  no  stain 
has  ever  fallen,  I  come  to  Thee.  I  stand 
before  Thy  judgment  throne  in  preference  to 
the  judgment  throne  of  man.  I  seek  it 
because  it  is  white ;  it  is  its  spotlessness 
that  makes  me  hope.  I  pass  by  all  other 
thrones  but  Thine.  I  pass  the  martyrs  and 
apostles.  I  pass  the  angel  and  the  archangel. 
I  pass  the  cherub  and  seraph.  I  pause  not 
in  my  flight  till   I   reach   the   blaze   of  Thy 


24  Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

purity;  and  on  the  steps  of  Thy  altar  I  lay 
my  burden  down.  Only  Thou  art  worthy  to 
open  the  book  of  my  life.  Seal  it  from  all 
others,  O  my  Father !  Let  it  not  be  read 
in  any  light  but  Thine  !  Unto  Thee  I 
lift  up  my  soul.  I  make  my  appeal  from 
Felix  unto  Csesar ;  unto  Caesar  shall  I  go. 
In  the  light  of  Thy  morning  alone  let  the 
blots  of  my  record  be  seen !  Unto  whom 
shall  I  go  but  unto  Thee !  My  brother  is 
an  alarmist ;  he  has  not  the  words  of  Ever- 
lasting Life ;  he  deems  it  impossible  I  should 
recover.  But  with  Thee  there  is  hope  even 
in  the  grave;  to  the  Great  Physician  all 
things  are  possible. 


THE    ROOT    OF    SYMPATHY. 

**  For  if  any  be  a  hearer  of  the  Word,  and  not  a  doer,  he  is 
like  unto  a  man  beholding  his  natural  face  in  a  glass.  For  he 
beholdeth  himself,  and  goeth  his  way,  and  straightway  forget- 
teth  what  manner  of  man  he  was." — ^James  I.  23,  24. 

I  UNDERSTAND  St.  James  to  be  speaking  of 
the  life  of  ministrant  charity.  Remember  his 
definition  of  pure  religion !  —  to  visit  the 
fatherless  in  their  affliction.  He  says  that 
what  prevents  a  man  from  doing  this  is  the 
forgetfulness  of  his  own  yesterday.  He  for- 
gets what  his  own  face  was  like  before  it  was 
beautified.  If  he  could  keep  in  his  eye  the 
first  vision  of  himself  in  the  glass,  he  would 
be  greatly  more  sympathetic  to  the  wants  of 
his  brother.  And  is  not  James  right  in  his 
view !  I  believe  that  the  root  of  all  sympathy 
is  retrospect — the  memory  of  our  own  deliver- 
ance.    I  do  not  think  that  the  actual  time  of 


26  Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

sorrow  tends  to  make  us  sympathetic.  No 
man  can  behold  his  natural  face  while  it  is 
natural ;  he  can  only  see  it  as  a  memory.  But 
if  I  forget  what  I  was,  if  I  remember  not  the 
mirror  of  my  own  past  meanness,  I  have  lost 
the  chord  of  my  own  compassion.  It  is  worse 
to  veil  yesterday  than  to  veil  to-morrow. 
There  are  men  who  veil  to-morrow,  and  it  is 
sad  ;  they  have  no  golden  dream  to  cheer 
their  day.  But  to  veil  yesterday  is  to  break 
the  only  glass  that  shows  me  my  brother's 
cross,  to  shatter  the  only  mirror  that  reveals 
my  sister's  pain. 

Keep  thy  mirror,  O  my  soul !  It  is  the  most 
precious  bit  of  furniture  in  all  thy  house— the 
last  thing  that  thou  shouldst  part  with.  It 
reminds  thee  of  poorer  days,  but  that  is  its 
glory.  It  is  that  which  gives  thee  a  heart  for 
the  poor.  Thy  gorgeous  furniture  may  make 
thee  glad,  but  it  will  not  make  another  glad. 
How  shalt  thou  read  thy  brother's  pain 
except  on  the  former  leaf  of  thine  own  book — 
the  leaf  which  thou  hast  turned  !  Paul  says 
that  we  behold  in  a  glass  the  glory  of  the 
Lord.  What  glass  ?  The  same  which  James 
saw — the  glass  of  yesterday.     The  glory   of 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.  27 

the  Lord  is  Calvary,  and  the  road  to  Calvary 
is  sympathy,  and  the  road  to  sympathy  is 
yesterday.  Thou  must  go  back  if  thou  wouldst 
lift  thy  brother's  load.  Back,  then,  O  my 
soul !  Back  to  the  record  of  thine  own 
humility !  Back  to  the  memory  of  thy  moth 
and  rust !  Back  to  the  sight  of  the  ground 
out  of  which  thou  wert  taken  !  Back  to  the 
vision  of  thy  rags  in  the  mirror  of  the  past ! 
The  memory  of  thy  rags  shall  be  thy  robe  of 
righteousness,  for  he  who  redeems  his  brother 
is  he  who  forgets  not  the  shadow  of  his  own 
morning. 


THE    INFLUENCE    OF    HEAVEN    ON 
EARTH. 

"  Those  that  be  planted  in  the  house  of  the  Lord  shall  flourish 
in  the  courts  of  our  God."— Psalm  xcii.  13. 

Planting  is  opposed  to  grafting.  This  is 
a  defence  of  early  religious  training.  The 
Psalmist  says  that  those  who  from  the  outset 
have  been  reared  in  the  light  of  God  get  a 
great  advantage  in  after  years.  But  what  is 
the  advantage?  What  does  he  mean  by 
saying,  "  If  they  are  planted  in  God's  house, 
they  shall  flourish  in  God's  courts "  ?  It  is 
commonly  thought  to  mean  that  those  who 
get  in  will  get  further  in.  I  think  it  is  quite 
the  reverse.  Those  who  get  in  will  get 
further  out.  The  courts  are  outside  the 
house — nearer  the  world  than  the  house. 
What   is  meant  is  that  the   unworldly  man 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.  29 

shall  have  more  worldly  power,  that  he  who 
seeks  first  God  and  His  righteousness  shall 
have  temporal  strength  added  to  him.  And 
is  not  that  true!  Do  not  we  see  it  every  day  ! 
Is  not  the  training  for  God  the  beginning  of 
earthly  wisdom !  Are  not  the  powers  of 
mind  that  fit  us  for  heaven  precisely  the 
powers  that  fit  us  for  earth!  Is  not  the 
merchant  helped  by  a  calm  judgment !  Is 
not  the  master  aided  by  a  strong  will !  Is  not 
the  poet  stimulated  by  a  great,  yea,  by  an 
impossible  ideal !  Is  not  the  work  of  each 
day  helped  by  the  vision  of  to-morrow ! 
Truly  the  outer  courts  of  God  are  possessed  by 
him  who  has  entered  in  ! 

O  Thou  Eternal  One,  I  need  Thee  for  time. 
They  are  always  telling  me  that  earth  is  the 
robing  room  in  which  to  prepare  for  heaven. 
Rather  hast  Thou  said  that  heaven  is  the 
robing  room  in  which  to  prepare  for  earth. 
It  is  from  within  Thy  sanctuary  that  I  am 
armed  for  the  battle  of  life ;  it  is  in  meeting 
my  God  that  I  learn  to  meet  my  brother.  I 
am  not  fit  for  this  world  till  I  have  seen  the 
other  world ;  I  must  go  up  to  the  mount  ere  I 
give  laws  to  the  people.     It  is  from  behind 


30  Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

the  veil  of  eternity  that  I  speak  to  the  things 
of  time.  I  could  not  bear  the  fretting  of  the 
shore  were  it  not  for  the  sight  of  the  sea.  I 
could  not  stand  the  murmur  of  the  crowd  were  it 
not  for  the  murmur  of  the  shell.  I  should  sink 
beneath  the  burden  and  the  heat  of  the  day 
unless  I  were  refreshed  by  the  spray  from  the 
ocean  of  Thy  love.  Roll  in,  then,  thou  great 
sea  !  Roll  in  upon  the  hot  sands  of  time,  and 
lave  the  thirsty  land !  Roll  in  upon  the 
beach,  and  wash  its  impurities  away !  Let  us 
hear  the  sound  of  Thy  waves,  and  we  shall 
bear  the  rumbling  of  earth's  chariot  wheels ! 
He  who  has  lain  one  moment  on  Thy  breast 
is  fit  to  tread  the  dusty  courts  of  time. 


CHRISTIANITY    AND    SOLITUDE. 

•*  The  wilderness  and  the  solitary  place  shall  be  glad  for  them  ; 
and  the  desert  shall  rejoice  and  blossom  as  the  rose." — 
Isaiah  xxxv.  i. 

That  was  a  new  experience  for  the  men  of 
the  old  world.  For  them  the  only  gladness 
was  to  live  in  company.  There  was  no  life 
but  social  life.  The  individual  man  was  afraid 
to  be  alone.  He  was  afraid  of  Jacob's  angel ; 
he  feared  to  wrestle  with  his  own  conscience  ; 
he  dreaded  the  spectre  of  the  past ;  he  shrank 
from  the  memory  of  his  yesterday ;  he  trem- 
bled to  meet  Esau.  And  when  he  was  forced 
to  go  into  the  wilderness,  it  was  awful  to 
him.  When  sickness  laid  him  aside  he  be- 
came despairing.  He  often  refused  to  wait 
for  the  natural  course  of  death — he  ran  to  meet 
it ;  he  could  not  bear  a  solitary  burden ;  he 
could  bear  a  burden  along  with  multitudes — 


32  Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

in  the  camp  or  in  the  field.  But,  wnen  the 
multitude  was  gone,  when  the  brethren  had 
departed,  when  the  night  came  and  he  was 
left  alone,  then  indeed  he  cried  aloud. 

Lord,  Thou  hast  lighted  Thy  candle  in  the 
silent  room.  Thou  hast  made  it  possible  for 
me  to  sit  alone  beneath  the  stars  without 
saying,  "  How  dreadful  is  this  place  !  "  Thou 
hast  reconciled  me  to  myself — to  my  own 
company;  nay,  rather,  Thou  hast  reconciled 
me  to  Thine.  It  was  fear  to  meet  Thee  made 
me  dread  to  be  alone.  But  now  Thou  hast 
lifted  the  veil,  and  lo  !  the  wrestling  angel  is 
a  man !  I  thought  Thee  foreign  to  my  soul, 
and  lo !  Thy  name  is  Love !  I  thought  the 
curtains  of  my  sick-bed  were  a  cloud  upon 
Thy  brow,  and  lo !  they  are  the  drapery  of  a 
ladder  that  ascends  to  Thy  smile !  I  thought 
the  pain  of  the  shrunk  sinew  was  a  sign  of 
Thine  anger,  and  lo  !  it  is  a  fetter  to  keep 
me  in  Thy  love !  Thou  hast  blest  me  in  my 
solitude.  I  halted  one  day  upon  my  thigh. 
I  could  not  run  with  the  crowd ;  I  could  not 
keep  up  with  the  multitude.  I  lagged  be- 
hind ;  I  missed  my  chance  in  the  race ;  I  was 
left  alone.     I  was  sad ;  I  was  sore  at  heart ; 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.  33 

I  murmured.  But  I  was  wrong.  That  houi 
of  loneliness  has  been  my  most  crowded  hour. 
It  has  been  crowded  with  Thy  blessings  ;  it 
has  been  loaded  with  Thy  benefits ;  it  has 
been  redolent  with  Thy  flowers.  Thy  flowers 
have  sprung  up  in  the  night.  Their  perfume 
has  been  wafted  through  the  desert.  Their 
soil  has  been  the  place  of  the  old  garbage, 
where  all  useless  things  once  were  thrown. 
Its  name  is  Gethsemane.  It  looks  a  cheerless 
spot,  and  the  multitude  pass  by  it.  But  those 
who  enter  it  shall  hear  the  sound  of  singing, 
and  those  who  abide  in  it  shall  wear  the  red 
blossom  of  sacrifice. 


THE    MEDICAL    ASPECT    OF 
RELIGION. 

"  Who  is  the  health  of  my  countenance."— Psalm  xliii.  5. 

Why  the  health  ot  the  countenance'}  Why 
does  he  not  say  "the  health  of  my  spirit"  ? 
Because  to  the  psalmist  the  redemption  of  the 
soul  always  ends  in  the  resurrection  of  the 
body.  And  is  not  the  psalmist  right !  Don't 
we  also  find  it  true,  you  and  I !  They  tell  us 
that  bad  health  affects  the  spirits,  and  doubt- 
less it  is  so.  But  is  it  not  equally  true  that 
to  be  in  low  spirits  affects  the  health  !  Do 
we  not  find  that  physical  trouble  is  more 
easily  shaken  off  when  there  is  peace  within ! 
I  have  often  heard  it  said  that  children  stand 
trouble  better  than  adults.  I  believe  it  to  be 
the  fact,  but  I  think  the  reason  is  a  deeper 
one  than  is  commonly  supposed.     It  is  not 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.  35 

because  the  child  is  fresher  than  the  man,  it 
is  because  the  child  has  less  care  than  the 
man.  The  mind  is  a  factor  in  the  recovery 
of  the  body.  I  am  not  sure  that  I  would 
even  except  cases  of  unconsciousness.  Our 
sleep  is  coloured  by  our  waking,  and  in  the 
state  which  men  call  unconscious  I  know  not 
what  dreams  may  lie.  Job  said,  "  In  my  flesh 
I  shall  see  God  ;  "  he  might  have  equally  said, 
**In  God  I  shall  see  my  flesh.*'  Get  the 
soul  and  you  will  get  the  body  too.  Get 
peace  and  you  will  lessen  pain.  Get  faith 
and  you  will  diminish  fever.  Get  wisdom  and 
you  will  strengthen  weakness.  Get  love  and 
you  will  dispel  lassitude.  The  hope  in  God 
is  the  health  of  the  countenance. 

O  Thou,  who  didst  put  a  little  child  in  the 
midst  of  the  disciples,  I  understand  what  that 
means  to-day.  I  understand  how  modern 
was  the  act,  how  suited  to  the  world  in  which 
I  dwell.  I  have  heard  men  say  it  was  to 
disparage  outward  strength.  Nay,  my  Lord, 
it  was  to  make  me  outwardly  more  strong. 
It  is  because  a  child's  heart  gives  a  man's 
health  that  Thou  hast  bidden  me  become  a 
child.      It    is    because    there    is    no    armour 

D  z 


36  Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

against  disease  like  the  self-forgetting  soul, 
that  Thou  hast  sent  me  back  to  the  days  of 
lightest  care.  It  is  not  because  I  loathe 
worldly  comfort,  but  because  I  love  it,  that 
I  come  to  Thee.  I  want  to  be  free  from  low 
spirits ;  they  hurt  me ;  they  open  the  pores 
to  all  diseases ;  they  make  me  liable  to 
draughts  and  colds.  I  blamed  exposure 
yesterday  for  a  chill.  It  was  the  want  of 
it ;  I  was  too  closely  shut  in,  too  much  con- 
fined within  my  own  cares.  Unbar  the  doors, 
O  Lord !  Open  my  heart  to  Thy  breath,  and 
my  body  shall  be  closed  to  the  pestilence. 
Let  in  Thy  atmosphere  of  joy,  and  all  con- 
tagious vapours  shall  be  kept  out.  Make  me 
sound  within,  and  the  outer  man  shall  be 
renewed  day  by  day.  Make  me  to  hear  the 
Yoice  of  gladness,  and  the  very  bones  which 
have  been  broken  shall  rejoice.  If  my  heart 
be  glad,  my  flesh  also  shall  rest  in  hope. 
If  I  take  up  my  cross,  I  shall  take  up  my  bed 
as  well.  Let  Thy  way  be  known  on  earth, 
and  Thy  saving  health  shall  be  found  in  all 
nations. 


LOVE'S    DOMINION. 

**  Let  us  make  man  in  our  image,  after  our  likeness  :  and  let 
them  have  dominion  over  the  fish  of  the  sea,  and  over  the  fowl 
of  the  air,  and  over  the  cattle,  and  over  all  the  earth,  and  over 
every  creeping  thing  that  creepeth  upon  the  earth." — Genesis 
1.26. 

The  image  of  God  is  love,  and  love  is  the 
most  ambitious  thing  in  the  world.  Wherever 
it  rises,  it  claims  universal  dominion.  There 
are  four  things  over  which  love  claims 
dominion.  The  first  is  "the  fish  of  the  sea'' 
— the  little  nibbles  on  the  waters  of  life. 
Does  that  seem  a  small  claim  r  It  is  a  tre- 
mendous one.  It  requires  more  love  to  stand 
worry  than  to  stand  grief.  The  second  is 
"the  fowl  of  the  air" — the  restless  thoughts 
of  the  heart.  Love  can  arrest  unrest.  It  can 
remain  unmoved  amid  the  flight  of  old  forms 
of  faith;  it  can  recognise  the  one  presence 


38  Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

beneath  the  constant  change  of  apparel.  The 
third  is  "  the  cattle  " — the  earthly  or  animal 
nature.  Love  can  overcome  that.  How  many 
a  young  man  has  it  made  pure  !  How  many 
a  sensuous  soul  has  it  refined  and  beautified ! 
Love  has  done  more  than  law  to  lift  the  heart 
above  the  mire.  The  fourth  is  the  thing  that 
"  creepeth  upon  the  earth  " — the  moments  of 
human  insignificance  in  which  it  seems  pre- 
sumptuous in  man  to  hope.  There  are 
seasons  in  which  I  ask  myself,  What  is  my 
petty  life  amid  the  vastness  of  the  stars  !  But 
love  makes  me  stand  erect.  It  gives  me  a 
sense  of  immortality,  of  imperishableness. 
It  lifts  me  above  all  material  things,  however 
magnificent.  It  tells  me  there  is  room  in  the 
inn  amid  the  guests  of  my  Father.  It  carries 
me  up  from  the  manger  of  my  own  humilia- 
tion. It  makes  me  say,  "What  a  piece  of 
work  is  man  !  " 

"  Strong  Son  of  God,  Immortal  Love,"  give 
me  the  dominion  over  these  four  !  Give  me 
the  dominion  over  the  fish  of  the  sea — the 
power  to  do  Martha's  service  with  Mary's 
unencumberedness !  Give  me  the  dominion 
over  the  fowl  of  the  air — the  power  to  meet 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.  39 

Peter's  shipwreck  with  John's  quiet  rest ! 
Give  me  the  dominion  over  the  beast  of  the 
field — the  power  to  wash  the  leper's  spots 
with  Magdalene's  tears !  Give  me  the  do- 
minion over  the  creeping  thing — the  thing 
which  makes  me  crouch,  called  Death !  It  is 
the  last  enemy  which  shall  be  left  Thee  to 
conquer.  Reveal  Thyself,  O  Love,  in  the 
valley  !  Reveal  the  immortality  of  Thy  youth 
in  the  midst  of  decay!  Reveal  Thy  spring- 
time in  the  winter.  Thy  Nebo  in  the  desert, 
Thy  singing  on  the  leafless  tree !  Reveal 
that  there  is  something  which  passes  not  away 
when  tongues  shall  cease  and  prophets  fail ! 
Reveal  that  Thou  art  seen  face  to  face  when 
other  things  appear  through  a  glass  darkly ! 
Then  shall  I  walk,  not  creep,  through  the 
valley  of  the  shadow  of  death ;  in  the  vision 
of  Thy  crown  I  shall  crouch  no  more. 


THE    SICK-ROOM    OF    HUMANITY. 

"Could  ye  not  watch  with  me  one  hour?" — Matthew 
XXVI.  40. 

It  is  one  of  the  surprises  of  Jesus;  He 
marvels  at  man's  inhumanity  to  man.  I  take 
the  idea  to  be  what  would  be  represented  in 
our  day  by  one  nurse  asking  the  co-operation 
of  another.  I  do  not  think  Christ  regards 
Himself  as  the  patient.  The  patient  is  hu- 
manity. Christ  is  watching  by  the  bed  of 
humanity ;  He  is  the  head  nurse  in  the  great 
Hospital  of  Time.  He  asks  the  disciples  to 
share  in  His  watching.  It  is  rather  sympathy 
with  His  cause  He  desires  than  pity  for 
Himself.  It  is  not  because  He  is  personally 
weary  that  He  asks  their  co-operation ;  it  is 
because  the  patient  is  sick.  He  wants  them 
to  have  a  share  in  the  duty,  because  the  duty 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.  41 

is  in  His  sight  a  privilege.  It  is  to  Him  a 
miracle  that  man  does  not  feel  the  privilege. 
There  is  no  violation  of  law  so  miraculous  to 
Him  as  the  violation  of  human  sympathy. 
The  miracle  in  our  world  is  a  man  walking 
on  the  sea.  The  miracle  in  His  world  is  a 
man  7iot  walking  on  the  sea,  not  in  sympathy 
with  the  sorrows  of  his  kind.  What  He  asks 
is  in  the  meantime  simple  sympathy,  nothing 
but  watching.  There  are  times  in  the  sick- 
room when  we  can  do  nothing  but  watch  the 
patient.  So  was  it  with  the  Son  of  man  in 
the  hour  of  His  flesh.  His  heart  was  broken 
by  the  torrent  He  could  not  stem.  He  could 
only  pace  the  wards,  and  feel  the  pulse  of  the 
sufferer,  and  ask,  with  breathless  interest, 
"  Watchman,  what  of  the  night  ? '' 

There  was  none  to  answer  Thy  question, 
O  Lord.  There  was  no  fellow  watcher  to 
give  the  response.  The  guardians  of  the 
sick  had  fallen  asleep;  Thou  wert  treading 
the  hospital  alone.  Am  I  not  responsible  for 
Thy  loneliness  !  I  w^as  put  to  watch  beside 
Thee,  and  I  fell  asleep.  If  the  spirit  had 
been  more  willing,  the  flesh  would  have  been 
less  weak.     I  had  not  love    enough  to  keep 


42  Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

awake,  not  interest  enough  to  conquer  drow- 
siness. Revive  my  love,  revive  my  interest, 
O  Christ!  Give  me  the  sense  of  relationship 
to  the  patient,  Thy  sense  of  relationship.  Let 
me  feel  that  he  is  a  member  of  my  body  as 
he  is  of  Thine  !  It  is  the  sense  of  being  a 
hireling  that  makes  me  sleep;  I  am  paid  for 
so  many  hours,  and  I  want  to  get  them 
through.  Give  me  that  thing  which  no  hire 
can  satisfy — love  !  Give  me  that  which  sleeps 
not  when  its  object  is  in  peril  !  Give  me 
that  which  makes  the  night  even  as  the  day 
in  time  of  trouble  !  Give  me  that  which  all 
the  flowers  of  the  garden  cannot  tempt  me 
to  forget !  Give  me  that  which  could  impel 
even  Thee  to  be  emptied  of  Thy  majesty  and 
take  a  servant's  form !  So  shall  I  sleep  not 
in  the  crisis  hour  ;  so  in  the  wards  of  trouble 
shall  I  watch  with  Thee. 


f 


DAWN    AT    DUSK. 

"I  will  give  him  the  morning  star."— Revelation  ii.  28. 

To  whom  is  this  promise  given?  Is  it  to 
youth  ?  Nobody  would  wonder  at  that ;  youth 
is  the  time  of  promise.  But  this  is  a  promise 
to  the  old.  It  is  made  to  those  w^ho  have 
finished  their  labour,  as  we  see  from  verse  26, 
"  he  that  overcometh  and  keepeth  my  works 
unto  the  end.'*  It  is  the  man  at  the  end  of 
the  day  who  is  promised  the  morning  star. 
And  that  is  a  very  strange  thing.  We  often 
speak  of  a  promising  boy  or  a  promising 
young  man.  But  how  incongruous  would  it 
sound  to  hear  one  speak  of  a  promising  old 
man !  It  would  seem  like  viewing  the  sunset 
and  saying,  **  What  a  beautiful  dawn  !  '*  Yet 
it  is  this  and  nothing  less  than  this  that  is 
imaged  here.     The  veteran  who  has  reached 


44  Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

the  goal  is  promised  a  dawn.  We  could  have 
understood  how  he  should  have  been  promised 
a  golden  sunset.  We  could  have  understood 
how  there  should  have  been  accorded  to  him 
the  joy  of  looking  back  upon  his  work  and 
seeing  that  it  was  all  very  good ;  but  to  get 
the  morning  star  at  evening  time,  to  hear  the 
lark  in  the  place  where  the  nightingale  should 
be,  to  listen  in  December  to  the  voices  of  the 
spring — it  is  the  boon  of  perfect  glory. 

And  yet,  my  soul,  why  should  it  not  be 
thine — thine  at  the  last !  I  know  it  has  always 
been  thine  at  the  first ;  thine  outgoing  has 
been  ever  on  the  wings  of  the  morning.  But 
why  shouldst  thou  not  come  back  on  the 
wings  of  the  morning,  too !  When  thou 
returnest  from  thy  labour  in  the  evening, 
why  should  there  be  for  thee  no  morning 
star!  Is  it  not  through  the  hours  of  night 
that  the  earth  itself  rolls  into  its  morning ! 
Is  there  any  hope  like  retrospective  hope — 
the  hope  that  is  born  of  memory !  There 
is  none,  O  my  soul !  Wouldst  thou  look 
confidently  forward ;  then  must  thou  look 
steadily  back.  Is  it  not  written,  "  He  that 
spared  not  His  own  Son  shall  freely  give  us 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.  45 

all  things/'  Thy  hope  for  to-morrow  is 
yesterday.  Nothing  in  the  future  can  be 
done  for  thee  greater  than  what  has  been 
done.  Wouldst  thou  fan  thine  expectations 
of  a  coming  day;  I  know  not  where  thou 
canst  kindle  them  so  well  as  at  the  fire  of  the 
day  which  is  gone.  The  wings  on  which  thou 
soarest  are  not  made  of  fancies,  but  ot  expe- 
riences. It  is  on  the  steps  of  vanquished 
Calvary  that  thou  mountest  the  heights  of 
Olivet.  It  was  after  the  flood  that  the  rain- 
bow was  seen.  I  never  really  hope  in  God 
till  I  have  passed  through  the  waters.  It  is 
across  the  snow  that  the  bells  of  happiest 
prospect  ring.  It  is  through  the  rent  shadow 
that  I  see  nearest  the  promised  land ;  he  that 
overcometh  shall  receive  the  morning  star. 


THE    CONFESSION    OF    MEMORY. 

*'  I  have  been  young  and  now  am  old  ;  yet  have  I  not  seen 
the  righteous  forsaken  nor  his  seed  begging  bread." — Psalm 
XXXVII.  25. 

Who  is  the  "  I "  that  speaks  with  such 
confidence  ?  Nobody  knows.  It  is  someone 
unseen  by  history — below  the  level  of  fame. 
Perhaps  it  was  a  poor  seamstress  in  a  garret ; 
perhaps  it  was  an  invalid  upon  the  couch  ot 
pain ;  perhaps  it  was  a  breaker  of  stones  by 
the  roadside.  Whoever  it  was  he  has  become 
immortal.  Doubtless,  when  he  wrote  he  had 
not  thought  of  being  heard  beyond  the  next 
street ;  it  reads  very  like  a  letter  of  con- 
dolence to  a  distressed  neighbour.  But  the 
angels  caught  it  up,  and  therefore  the  press 
caught  it  up.  It  became  a  song  for  all  nights. 
No  wonder.     It  has  a  note  of  quite  special 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.  47 

music.  Many  have  uttered  songs  of  faith,  but 
this  is  not  a  song  of  faith,  it  is  a  song  ot 
retrospect;  it  is  the  retrospect  of  an  obscure 
man,  a  nobody,  and  that  is  its  value.  It 
claims  no  authority  but  experience  ;  it  appeals 
to  no  testimony  but  fact,  not  even  God's 
testimony.  It  quotes  neither  Moses  nor  the 
prophets ;  it  just  gives  an  autobiography 
without  a  date  and  without  a  name. 

My  brothers,  why  have  we  so  few  auto- 
biographies of  the  common  plain  !  We  have 
societies  for  collecting  strange  testimonies. 
We  gather  the  record  of  apparitions.  We 
inWte  the  narration  of  fulfilled  dreams.  We 
solicit  the  disclosure  of  foretold  events.  Why 
do  we  not  ask  common  men  to  give  their 
experience  of  ever}'-day  life  !  We  have  our 
confessions  of  faith;  why  have  we  not  our 
confessions  of  memor}^ !  You  ask  me  to  sign 
my  belief  in  a  plan  of  salvation.  Perhaps  I 
may  demur  to  do  so ;  the  universe  may  be  too 
big  for  me  to  see  it  round  and  round.  But 
I  shall  not  refuse  to  sign  the  confession  of  my 
own  memor>';  I  shall  not  refuse  to  say,  "I 
have  always  found  God  good  to  me*'  There 
are   few  of  us,   even    the    most   forlorn,  who 


48  Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

would  not  rather  live  than  die.  That  itself  is 
a  confession  of  memory — the  confession  that 
God  is  good.  Be  this  our  bond  of  creed,  my 
brothers ;  we  shall  leave  the  rest  to  hope,  but 
we  shall  put  our  sign  to  memory.  Hope  may 
flicker,  for  an  hour  it  may  even  expire ;  but 
memory  is  stereotyped ;  it  is  a  fact ;  it  is  a 
monument ;  it  is  unaffected  by  clouds ;  it  is 
independent  of  night  or  day.  I  may  lose  the 
star  of  to-morrow,  but  not  the  green  patch  of 
yesterday.  No  progress  can  wash  away  that 
record  of  the  past,  "  I  have  not  seen  the 
righteous  forsaken." 


THE    SOUL'S    REST. 

"  Ye  shall  find  rest  unto  your  souls." — Matthew  xi.  29. 

The  rest  of  a  soul  is  a  very  peculiar  thing ; 
it  is  what  we  should  call  movement.  The  rest 
of  a  body  is  sleep,  because  its  work  becomes 
a  weariness.  The  rest  of  a  rolling  ball  is 
stillness,  because  it  loses  its  energy  as  it  goes. 
But  the  rest  of  a  soul  is  motion,  because 
repose  is  foreign  to  it.  One  of  our  poets  has 
said,  "  The  soul  is  dead  that  slumbers ;  "  and 
it  is  true.  The  weariest  moment  of  a  soul  is 
its  torpor.  When  it  has  nothing  to  think  of, 
nothing  to  dream  of,  nothing  to  speak  of — 
when  all  its  wells  are  dry,  and  all  its  flowers 
are  withered,  and  all  its  ambitions  are  silent 
— when  it  feels  that  life  is  beneath  striving 
for — when  it  says,  "  The  game  is  not  worth 
the  candle" — that  is  an  awful  time!  It  is 
the  spectacle  of  a  restless  soul,  because  it  is 


50  Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

the  sight  of  a  soul  reposing.  It  is  the  broken 
wing  of  a  bird,  the  lame  feet  of  a  stag,  the 
snapped  string  of  a  violin,  the  lost  voice  of  a 
singer.  The  soul  imprisoned  within  itself 
finds  the  yoke  not  easy. 

My  soul,  how  shalt  thou  find  rest  ?     On  the 
wings  of  love.     It  is  not  less  but  more  move- 
ment that  thou  cravest.     Not  a  couch  more 
downy,  but  a  pinion  more  drastic,  is  wanted 
to   give   thee   rest.     If  thou   wouldst  not  be 
weary,   thou   must   mount  up  with  wings  as 
eagles.     Only  when  thou  art  flying  art  thou 
unfettered.     Put   on   thy   new  wings,    O  my 
soul ;  put  on  thy  wings   of  love,  and  soar ! 
Soar  to  the  joy  of  thy  heart — the  man  Christ 
Jesus !     Soar  to  the  light  of  thy  waking,  the 
object    of  thy   dreams!     Soar,   though   thou 
come  not  up  with  Him  to-day,  nor  to-morrow, 
nor,    perhaps,    for    many    morrows!      Soar, 
though  the  wind  be  high,  though  the  mist  be 
thick  upon  the  hills !     If  thou  shalt  only  rise 
far   enough,   the   mist   will  vanish,    and   the 
winds  will  cease,  and  in  all  thine  onward  way 
there  shall  be  no  more  resistance  to  thy  flight. 
Thou  shalt  reach  thy  perfect  rest  when  thou 
hast  attained  thine  unimpeded  flying. 


THE  SUBSTITUTE  FOR  REVELATION. 

"  Who  giveth  songs  in  the  night."— Job  xxxv.  la 

There  are  times  in  which  the  heart  has  to 
fill  the  place  of  the  eye.  We  see  nothing; 
the  sky  is  dark;  yet  we  are  not  dismayed. 
There  is  no  ray  of  light  upon  our  path  that  we 
can  discern,  no  opening  in  the  cloud,  no  rent 
in  the  gloom.  Yet  somehow  the  heart  sings 
— sings  in  the  shadow,  sings  in  the  silence. 
And  at  these  times  we  are  to  take  the  song  as 
the  substitute  for  the  sun.  We  are  to  impute 
to  the  heart's  singing  all  that  is  wanting  to 
the  eye's  vision.  The  song  is  itself  to  be  our 
revelation.  "  If  it  were  not  so  I  would  have 
told  you,"  says  the  Lord — would  not  have 
suffered  you  to  sing.  The  heart's  joy  de- 
mands a  contradiction  if  it  be  not  true.      If 

K  2 


52  Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

my  soul  says  "Yea"  and  God  does  not  say 
"  Nay,"  the  "  Yea  "  is  to  prevail.  The  silence 
of  God  is  vocal.  If  hope  cries,  and  He 
answers  not,  hope's  cry  is  to  be  itself  the 
answer,  for  He  has  sent  me  a  wing  instead 
of  a  star ;  He  has  given  me  a  song  in  the 
night. 

My  soul,  be  not  so  anxious  about  the 
reason  of  thy  peace!  Is  it  not  written  that 
there  is  a  peace  which  passeth  understanding. 
What  is  that  but  a  song  in  the  night !  It  is 
one  ot  the  songs  without  words.  It  gives  no 
explanation  of  its  music.  Clouds  and  dark- 
ness may  be  round  about  thee,  and  yet  thou 
mayest  be  able  to  sing.  Do  not  distress 
thyself  to  find  a  cause  for  thy  joy !  Hast 
thou  not  read  of  a  bush  that  was  all  in  flame 
and  yet  was  not  consumed !  The  facts  were 
all  against  its  permanence ;  it  was  unreason- 
able that  it  should  live.  But  it  did  live ;  and 
why  ?  Because  there  was  a  voice  speaking 
within  it,  singing  within  it — against  facts, 
spite  of  reason,  in  defiance  of  circumstances. 
It  was  a  song  without  words,  a  comfort 
without  cause,  a  strength  without  the  legions 
of  angels.     So,  ofttimes,  shall  it  be  with  thee. 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.  53 

There  shall  be  moments  in  which  Thy 
Gethsemane  shall  reveal  no  flower,  in  which 
the  cup  shall  not  pass,  in  which  the  legions  of 
angels  shall  not  come  ;  and  yet,  strange  to 
say,  thou  shalt  be  strong.  Thou  shalt  fly 
without  pinions  ;  thou  shalt  walk  without  feet ; 
thou  shalt  breathe  without  air;  thou  shalt 
praise  without  words  ;  thou  shalt  laugh  with- 
out sunshine  ;  thou  shalt  bless  without 
knowing  why — for  the  song  of  thy  heart  shall 
itself  be  thy  light,  and  thy  joy  shall  be  only 
from  God. 


THE    HIDDEN    THORN. 

"And  they  departed  into  a  desert  place  by  ship  privately.*' — 
Mark  vi.  32. 

If  you  have  a  desert  place  in  your  heart  to 
which  you  must  sometimes  go,  you  should 
depart  to  it  in  a  "  ship  privately."  No  man 
should  make  a  thoroughfare  of  his  desert. 
Keep  your  grief  for  the  private  ship.  Never 
go  into  company  with  an  abstracted  mind ; 
that  is  to  display  your  desert.  You  have 
sometimes  refrained  from  God's  table  of 
communion  because  your  thoughts  were  away. 
You  did  well.  Man's  table  of  communion 
has  the  same  need.  If  you  are  bidden  to  a 
feast  when  you  are  troubled  in  your  mind, 
try  first  whether  you  can  carry  your  burden 
privately  away.      If  you  can,  then  leave  the 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.  55 

desert  behind  you,  "anoint  thy  head  and 
wash  thy  face  that  thou  appear  not  unto  men 
to  fast."  But  if  you  cannot,  if  there  is  no 
ship  that  can  take  away  your  burden  in  secret, 
then  come  not  yet  to  the  feast.  Journey  not 
while  the  cloud  is  resting  over  the  tabernacle. 
Tarry  under  the  cloud.  Watch  one  hour  in 
the  garden.  Bury  thy  sorrow  in  the  silence. 
Let  thy  heart  be  reconciled  to  thy  Father, 
and  then  come  to  the  world  and  offer  thy 
gift. 

O  Thou  that  hast  hid  Thy  thorn  beneath 
a  rose,  steer  the  ship  in  which  I  conceal  my 
burden !  Thou  hast  gone  to  the  feast  of  Cana 
from  the  fast  in  the  wilderness;  where  hast 
Thou  hid  the  print  of  the  nails  ?  In  love. 
Steer  me  to  that  burying-ground !  Let  the 
ship,  on  its  way  to  my  desert,  touch  for  an 
hour  at  the  desert  of  my  brother!  Let  me 
feel  the  fellowship  of  grief,  the  community 
of  sorrow,  the  kindredness  of  pain  !  Let  me 
hear  the  voices  from  other  wildernesses,  the 
sighs  from  other  souls,  the  groans  from  other 
graves !  And,  when  I  come  to  my  own 
landing-place   and   put    down    my    hand    to 


$6  Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

lift  up  my  burden,  I  shall  meet  a  wondrous 
surprise.  It  will  be  there,  but  it  will  be  there 
half-sized.  Its  heaviness  will  be  gone,  its 
impossibility  will  have  vanished.  I  shall  lift 
it  easily ;  I  shall  carry  it  lightly  ;  I  shall  bury 
it  swiftly.  I  shall  be  ready  for  Cana  in  an 
hour,  ready  for  Calvary  in  a  few  moments. 
I  shall  go  back  to  enter  into  the  struggle  of 
the  multitude;  and  the  multitude  will  say, 
"  There  is  no  desert  with  Mm  !  " 


THE    AMBULANCE    CORPS. 

**  These  are  they  which  follow  the  Lamb  whithersoever  He 
goeth.  "—Revelation  xiv.  4. 

There  are  three  classes  in  the  Christian 
Life — the  men  of  the  wing,  the  men  of  the 
couch,  and  the  men  of  the  road.  The  first 
are  those  who  fly  before  ;  they  are  the 
pioneers  of  progress,  they  are  in  advance  of 
their  fellows.  The  second  are  those  who 
stand  still,  or  rather  lie  still ;  they  are  the 
invalids  of  the  human  race ;  they  come  not 
to  minister,  but  to  be  ministered  unto.  The 
third  are  those  who  follow ;  they  are  the  am- 
bulance corps  of  humanity;  they  are  the 
sacrificial  souls  that  come  on  behind.  I  think 
with  St.  John  that  these  last  are  the  most 
beautiful  souls  of  all.  They  are  lovely  in 
their  unobtnisiveness.     They  do  not  wish  to 


58  Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

lead,  they  would  rather  be  in  the  rear ;  they 
come  forward  only  when  others  are  driven 
backward.  They  want  no  glory  from  the 
battle,  no  wreath  for  the  victory,  no  honour- 
able mention  amid  the  heroes.  They  seek 
the  wounded,  the  dying,  the  dead.  They 
anoint  for  life's  burial,  they  bring  spices  for 
the  crucified,  they  give  the  cup  of  cold  water, 
they  wash  the  soiled  feet.  They  break  the 
fall  of  Adam ;  they  break  the  fall  of  Magda- 
lene. They  take  in  Saul  of  Tarsus  after  he 
becomes  blind.  They  are  attracted  by  de- 
fects, they  are  lured  by  every  form  ot 
helplessness.  They  come  out  to  meet  the 
shadows;  they  go  in  the  track,  not  of  the 
lark,  but  of  the  nightingale ;  they  follow  the 
Lamb. 

Captain  of  salvation,  put  me  in  the  rear  of 
Thine  army — with  the  ambulance  corps  !  It 
is  not  for  the  sake  of  safety  that  I  ask  it ;  it 
is  not  to  be  relieved  from  the  burden  and  the 
heat  of  the  day  that  I  wish  to  be  in  the  rear. 
It  is  because  I  think  the  trouble  is  greater 
there ;  it  is  because  I  see  more  room  for 
sacrifice,  more  chance  of  doing  good.  There 
are  some  whom  Thou  sendest  before  Thee — 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.  59 

angels  of  the  everlasting  gospel  who  fly  in 
advance  over  the  face  of  heaven.  Speed 
them,  bless  them  !  But  I  am  not  fitted  to  be 
one  of  these ;  I  am  not  swift  enough,  I  am 
not  brilliant  enough.  Put  me  in  a  sphere 
where  swiftness  is  not  wanted,  where  bril- 
liancy is  not  required !  Give  me  the  trouble 
without  the  glitter,  O  Lord !  Let  others  lead  ! 
— I  am  content  to  follow.  Be  Thou  my  rear- 
ward !  Help  me  to  serve  Thee  in  the  back- 
ground !  Is  it  not  written,  "  They  that  tarry 
at  home  divide  the  spoil."  I  cannot  fight 
Thy  battles,  but  I  can  nurse  Thy  wounded. 
I  cannot  repel  Thy  foes,  but  I  can  repair  Thy 
fortress.  I  cannot  conduct  Thy  marches,  but 
I  can  succour  those  who  have  fainted  by  the 
way.  Write  my  name  amongst  those  who 
follow  Thee  1 


THE  INFLUENCE  OF  PERSONALITY. 

"O  Zion,  that  bringest  good  tidings,  get  thee  up  into  the 
high  mountain." — Isaiah  XL.  9, 

Is  there  not  something  irrelevant  here? 
We  should  expect  the  words  to  be,  '*  O  Zion, 
that  bringest  good  tidings,  speak  them  out 
boldly/*  But  why  tell  her  to  go  up  into  the 
high  mountain — what  has  the  altitude  to  do 
with  it  ?  Everything.  The  first  condition  of 
all  teaching  is  simply  altitude ;  it  is  before 
your  grammar,  before  your  orthography, 
before  your  eloquence.  When  any  one  speaks 
to  me,  the  lirst  thing  I  want  to  know  is  the 
height  of  the  man.  High  words  mean  little 
with  a  small  personage,  small  words  mean 
much  with  a  great  one.  A  superficial  mind 
says,  "  You  have  done  magnificently ; "  a 
veteran  says,  "  You  have  done  pretty  well  ;" 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.  6i 

the  first  is  dross,  the  second  is  gold.  I  shall 
measure  your  words  not  by  their  size  but  by 
your  size.  If  you  say,  "  I  believe  in  God,''  I 
shall  ask  the  depth  of  your  heart,  the  height 
of  your  imagination,  the  length  of  your  view, 
the  breadth  of  your  knowledge.  It  is  easy 
for  a  shallow  heart  to  have  faith.  The  boy  in 
the  poem  who  thought  the  tree-^tops  reached 
the  sky  could  have  had  little  meaning  in  the 
word  "heaven."  Paul  speaks  of  faith  re- 
moving mountains ;  but  it  is  equally  true  that 
it  is  the  mountains  of  life  that  give  value  to 
faith. 

Get  ye  up  then  into  the  high  mountain,  ye 
who  have  a  message  to  bring !  Be  greater 
than  your  message  —  always,  everywhere  ! 
Do  not  say,  "Follow  not  me,  but  follow  what 
I  tell  you  !  "  Paul  was  a  very  humble  man, 
but  he  did  not  say  that ;  he  said  in  so  many 
words,  "  Be  ye  followers  of  me  !  "  The  man 
— the  man  !  that  is  the  main  thing.  Be  above 
your  business,  higher  than  your  books,  greater 
than  your  sermons,  more  instructive  than 
your  lessons!  Go  up  to  the  mount  before 
giving  the  law !  Ascend  the  slopes  of  Sinai 
alone    before    proclaiming    the   will    of    the 


62  Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

Father!  Enter  into  the  silence  of  His  pre- 
sence ere  you  come  into  the  presence  of  the 
multitude !  Catch  the  sunlight  on  the  hill- 
top ere  you  speak  to  the  dwellers  of  the  plain  ! 
Unveil  yourself  to  the  eyes  of  God  before  you 
reveal  your  message  to  the  sight  of  men ! 
There  is  no  argument  so  strong  as  the  arguer ; 
there  is  no  command  so  weighty  as  the  com- 
mander ;  there  is  no  teaching  so  powerful  as 
the  teacher.  When  Jesus  saw  the  multitude 
He  went  up  into  a  mountain ;  He  desired 
His  presence  to  be  greater  than  His  precepts. 
The  words  were  to  be  uttered  on  the  plain, 
but  the  sermon  was  to  come  from  the  height. 
Ye  who  have  tidings  to  bear,  go  up  first  to 
Himl 


THE    RESISTANCE    TO    OBLIVION. 

"Remember  Me."— Luke  xxiii.  42. 

The  heart,  like  the  intellect,  has  a  desire 
for  immortal  memory.  It  is  not  the  product 
of  conceit,  but  of  humanity.  It  is  the  soul's 
assertion  of  its  helplessness  when  left  alone 
— its  cry  for  support  from  other  souls.  Do 
you  know  the  meaning  of  the  English  word 
**  Remember  "  ?  It  literally  means  "  Member 
me  again.*'  It  is  the  sign  of  one  who  is 
passing  out  of  a  family  circle — going,  let  us 
say,  to  a  foreign  land.  He  says,  "  Member 
me  again !  When  you  gather  around  the 
household  board,  or  sit  at  night  by  the  winter 
fire,  keep  a  place  vacant  for  me  !  Keep  a 
gap  in  your  hearts  where  the  old  chair  should 
be !  Do  not  forget  to  count  me  among  the 
members    of   the    family ;     do    not    omit   to 


64  Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

number  me  in  the  circle  in  which  I  am  not 
seen !  "  And  so  we  all  ask  in  the  prospect  of 
the  great  journey.  What  most  of  us  fear  in 
death  is  not  that  we  shall  cease  to  be;  it  is 
that  we  shall  cease  to  be  members  of  the 
family  of  man.  We  doubt  not  that  there 
are  circles  beyond  the  sun  ;  but  what  of  the 
circles  below  it  ?  Shall  we  be  members  of  the 
earth  no  more  ?  Shall  the  last  link  be  broken 
that  binds  us  to  the  clay  ?  Shall  we  be 
blotted  out  from  time  ?  Shall  we  part  from 
the  seen  and  temporal  ?  Shall  our  feet  have 
no  right  to  be  listened  for  in  the  march  of  the 
earthly  army  ?  We  stretch  our  hands  through 
the  void  and  cry,  "  Member  me  again  — 
re-member  me !  " 

Be  still,  my  soul !  thy  prayer  is  answered. 
Thy  Lord  has  offered  to  re-member  thee. 
Knowest  thou  what  is  meant  by  being  a 
member  of  Christ's  body  ?  To  be  lifted  into  a 
mystic  circle  ?  No ;  to  be  re-instated  in  the 
circle  of  earth.  Christ's  communion  is  not 
mystical ;  it  is  that  which  prevents  mysticism. 
Mere  immortality  would  draw  thee  away  into 
the  invisible,  would  separate  thee  from  the 
order  of  human  things.     But  the  membership 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.  65 

in  Christ's  body  brings  thee  back.  It  restores 
thee  to  the  life  of  the  body  ;  it  gives  men  a 
right  to  think  of  thee  as  a  citizen  of  time. 
The  Brahman  speaks  of  death  as  a  breaking 
of  the  bottle  which  sends  the  enclosed  water 
back  into  the  parent  sea.  O  cruel  sea, 
which  destroys  the  individual  drop !  But 
Christ  puts  back  the  drop  into  the  bottle. 
He  restores  the  body,  the  house,  the  form. 
He  preserves  the  human  relationship.  Thine 
shall  be  no  flight  beyond  the  stars ;  thine 
shall  be  no  blending  with  the  infinite  sea; 
thine  shall  be  no  fading  of  the  cloud  into  the 
imperial  blue.  Thou  shalt  keep  the  cloud, 
thou  shalt  retain  the  cross,  thou  shalt  hold 
fast  the  care  which  makes  thee  human  ; 
and  men  shall  say  of  thee  when  death  has 
dissolved  the  tie,  "  He  is  still  our  brother — 
he  is  re-membered  in  the  family  of  man." 


THE    BREADTH    OF    CHRIST'S 
RELIGION. 

"  Thou  preparest  a  table  before  me  in  the  presence  of  mine 
enemies.**— Psalm  xxiii.  5. 

Christ's  is  the  only  religion  that  spreads  a 
table  in  the  presence  of  its  enemies.  This  is 
very  remarkable,  because  there  is  no  religion 
which  hates  sin  like  that  of  Jesus.  The  only 
faith  that  will  admit  to  its  table  a  guest  with 
soiled  robes  is  the  faith  that,  of  all  others, 
desires  purity.  The  Brahman  must  have  the 
flesh  crucified  before  the  river  of  life  joins  the 
great  sea.  The  Greek  must  have  the  flesh 
beautified  ere  earth  can  be  an  object  of  interest 
to  heaven.  The  Roman  must  have  the  flesh 
fortified  ere  so  weak  a  thing  as  man  can  be 
enrolled  in  the  coming  kingdom.  But  Christ 
accepts  us  for  an  aspiration,  for  a  sigh,  for  a 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.  6^ 

tear.  He  lets  us  sit  down  as  we  are,  without 
one  plea  of  present  excellence.  He  lets  us 
come  to  His  Communion  when  we  are  beneath 
vians  communion.  All  other  teachers  cry, 
"  Be  ye  cleansed  and  come "  ;  He  says, 
*'Come  and  be  cleansed."  They  tell  me  to 
put  on  the  white  robes  that  I  may  enter 
heaven ;  He  bids  me  enter  heaven  that  I  may 
put  on  the  white  robes.  They  bid  the  prodigal 
reform,  and  he  will  be  allowed  to  get  back  ; 
He  enjoins  him  to  come  back,  and  he  will 
have  a  chance  to  reform.  He  prepares  our 
table  in  the  presence  of  our  enemies. 

I  thank  Thee,  O  Father,  that  I  am  judged, 
not  by  fact,  but  by  faith.  I  thank  Thee  that 
I  am  allowed  to  sit  down  in  the  midst  of  my 
foes.  Thou  hast  accepted  me,  not  for  what  I 
am,  but  for  what  I  should  like  to  be.  Thou 
hast  measured  me,  not  by  the  attainments  of 
my  life,  but  by  the  glance  of  my  eye.  I  have 
no  power  to  paint  even  a  stroke ;  but  my  gaze 
rests  on  a  perfect  model.  Thou  hast  measured 
me  by  that  gaze,  O  my  Father.  Thou  hast 
seen  me  in  the  portrait-gallery,  ignorant  of 
the  very  elements  of  art,  but  "  looking  unto 
Jesus/'     That  look  has  redeemed  me  in  Thy 

P  3 


68  Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

sight.  In  the  very  presence  of  my  enemies 
Thou  hast  seen  me.  Ignorant,  powerless, 
unable  to  put  my  hand  to  one  stroke  of  beauty, 
with  nothing  but  the  admiring  eye,  Thou  hast 
seen  me.  Thou  hast  accepted  my  promise  as 
a  fulfilment ;  Thou  hast  paid  me  in  advance. 
Thou  hast  imputed  to  me  my  to-morrow  and 
ignored  my  yesterday.  Thou  hast  given  me 
a  summer  for  the  song  of  a  first  swallow. 
Thou  hast  sent  me  a  full-blown  flower  in 
exchange  for  a  primrose.  Thou  hast  prepared 
for  me  a  place  at  the  feast  above  my  station. 
Thou  hast  furnished  my  house  beyond  my 
means.  Thou  hast  sent  me  gifts  for  which  I 
have  no  room  in  my  present  dwelling.  My 
table  is  in  the  wilderness  ;  my  bow  is  in  the 
cloud ;  my  ark  is  in  the  flood  ;  my  song  is  in 
the  night ;  my  road  is  on  the  sea  ;  my  peace 
is  in  the  storm  ;  my  Christ  is  in  the  manger ; 
my  crown  is  on  the  Cross.  I  have  been 
chosen  by  Thee  in  the  presence  of  Thine 
enemies. 


THE     HIGHER    AND     LOWER 
CRITICISM. 

•*  There  came  wise  men  from  the  East  to  Jerusalem,  saying, 
Where  is  He  that  is  born  King  of  the  Jews  ?  For  we  have  seen 
his  star.  .  .  .  [Herod]  demanded  of  them  where  Christ 
should  be  born." — Matthew  ii.  i,  2,  and  4, 

Here  are  two  inquiries  of  very  much  the 
same  nature,  so  far  as  words  are  concerned. 
The  wise  men  and  Herod  both  ask  about  the 
Child  Jesus,  and  ask  in  nearly  identical  terms. 
What  is  the  difference  ?  It  lies  in  the  motive. 
The  wise  men  inquire  that  they  may  bring 
their  gold ;  Herod  inquires  that  he  may  kill. 
There  is  a  reverent,  and  there  is  an  irreverent, 
spirit  of  inquiry.  There  is  a  criticism  which 
comes  from  love,  and  a  criticism  which  comes 
from  lovelessness.  There  are  two  reasons 
why  I  may  wish  to  study  a  difficulty ;  I  may 


70  Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

want  to  clear  it  away,  or  I  may  want  to 
deepen  it.  The  wise  men  were  the  one ; 
Herod  was  the  other.  It  is  not  the  subject  of 
inquiry  that  makes  it  either  good  or  bad,  it  is 
the  spirit  in  which  it  is  done.  Why  do  you 
pore  over  a  blot  on  the  manuscript?  Is  it 
because  you  want  to  take  it  out,  or  is  it  be- 
cause you  hope  it  will  spoil  the  writing? 
There  are  things  which  "  the  angels  desire  to 
look  into  ;  *'  there  may  be  students  among  the 
angels  in  all  worlds.  But  if  I  desire  to  look 
into  a  thing  that  I  may  find  it  dark,  if  I  wish 
to  investigate  on  the  chance  that  I  may  dis- 
cover a  flaw,  I  belong,  not  to  the  camp  of  the 
angels,  but  to  the  camp  of  Herod. 

Lord,  let  me  see  Thy  star  before  I  inquire 
after  Thy  coming!  I  would  meet  Thee  ere 
I  ask  about  Thee.  First  Thyself,  then  Thy 
surroundings — that  would  be  the  order  of  my 
thoughts.  Meet  me  at  the  tabernacle  door! 
Meet  me  before  I  enter  the  temple  of  research  ! 
I  would  gaze  on  Thy  beauty  first  of  all;  I 
would  love  Thee  ere  I  learn  of  Thee.  It  is 
one  thing  to  follow  paths  in  search  of  Thee : 
it  is  another  thing  to  follow  paths  after  Thee. 
I  would  love  Thyself  before  I  scrutinise  Thy 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.  71 

portrait.  Thou  art  better  than  Thy  portrait, 
O  Lord.  Who  could  paint  Thee  adequately  ! 
Not  even  inspiration  could  paint  Thee  ade- 
quately. If  I  can  see  Thee  first,  I  shall 
interpret  Thy  picture  by  Thee,  and  not  Thee 
by  Thy  picture.  O  send  out  Thy  light ;  then 
shall  I  go  unto  Thine  altar,  I  would  not 
begin  with  the  dark  places ;  I  would  start 
with  the  brightness  of  the  morning.  The 
manger  cannot  lead  to  Thy  star,  but  Thy  star 
can  lead  to  the  manger ;  reveal  Thy  star,  O 
Lord  I 


ISLAND    MOMENTS. 

•*  The  burden  of  the  desert  of  the  sea."— Isaiah  xxi.  I. 

There  is  a  burden  in  all  vast  things ;  they 
oppress  the  soul.  The  firmament  gives  it ; 
the  mountain  gives  it;  the  prairie  gives  it. 
But  I  think  nothing  gives  it  like  looking  on 
the  sea.  The  sea  suggests  something  which 
the  others  do  not— a  sense  of  desertness.  In 
the  other  cases  the  vastness  is  broken  to  the 
eye.  The  firmament  has  its  stars,  the  moun- 
tain has  its  peaks,  the  prairie  has  its  flowers ; 
but  the  sea,  where  it  is  open  sea,  has  nothing. 
It  seems  a  strange  thing  that  the  prophet,  in 
making  the  sea  a  symbol  of  life's  burden, 
should  have  selected  its  aspect  of  loneliness. 
Why  not  take  its  storms  ?  Because  the 
heaviest  burden  of  life  is  not  its  storms,  but 
its  solitude.     There  are  no  moments  so  pain- 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.  73 

fill  as  our  island  moments.  One  half  of  our 
search  for  pleasure  is  to  avoid  self-reflection. 
The  pain  of  solitary  responsibility  is  too  much 
for  us.  It  drives  the  middle-aged  man  into 
fast  living,  and  the  middle-aged  woman  into 
gay  living.  I  cannot  bear  to  hear  the  discord 
of  my  own  past.  It  appals  me;  it  over- 
whelms me  ;  I  fly  to  the  crowd  to  escape  my 
unaccompanied  shadow. 

Unaccompanied  r  Thou  art  mistaken,  O 
my  soul.  Never  art  thou  so  near  to  land  as 
when  thou  hearest  the  discord  of  the  waves. 
Why  do  the  waves  sound  discordant  when 
thou  art  alone  with  conscience  ?  Not  because 
thou  art  far  out  to  sea,  but  because  thou  art 
closer  to  the  shore.  There  is  a  band  of  music 
on  the  shore,  and  it  strikes  upon  thine  ear. 
It  is  the  land-music  that  makes  the  sea- 
discord.  Why  is  it  that  in  the  crowd  the 
jarring  is  not  revealed  ?  It  is  because  the 
music  is  not  heard  there.  Thou  canst  never 
hear  discord  until  thou  hast  first  heard  music. 
There  are  sounds  of  melody  in  the  Father's 
house  before  the  prodigal  reaches  land.  He 
becomes  seasick  when  he  is  homesick,  and 
his  home -sickness  is  the  sight  of  land.     It  is 


74  Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

nearness  to  thy  God  that  makes  thee  long  for 
Him.  It  is  the  murmur  of  the  New  Jerusa- 
lem that  reveals  thy  solitude.  Ellas  is  come 
already.  The  sea  has  become  a  burden  be- 
cause thou  hast  caught  sight  of  the  coast ;  it 
is  by  the  light  of  heaven  that  thou  learnest 
the  loneliness  of  the  deep.  Thy  desert  is  the 
shadow  of  God's  city  ;  thy  discord  is  the  echo 
of  God's  music  ;  thy  silence  is  the  answer  to 
God's  voice ;  thy  weariness  of  the  wave  is 
thy  vision  of  the  outspread  land.  Thy  burden 
is  the  promise  that  there  shall  be  no  more 
sea. 


THE    IMPERISHABLE    FOUNTAIN. 

"  Whosoever  drinketh  of  this  water  shall  thirst  again ;  but 
whosoever  drinketh  of  the  water  that  I  shall  give  him  shall 
never  thirst."— John  iv.  13,  14. 

Our  Lord  does  not  say  that  the  objects 
of  worldly  ambition  are  bad,  He  says  they 
are  fleeting.  What  He  denies  is  not  their 
legitimacy,  but  their  permanence.  He  says 
the  man  who  drinks  of  the  earthly  fountain 
will  thirst  again,  the  man  who  drinks  of  the 
heavenly  fountain  will  never  thirst.  What  is 
this  magic  fountain  of  abiding  waters?  It  is 
Love.  Love  is  the  only  thing  which  I  need 
never  outgrow.  I  am  bound  to  outgrow 
everything  else.  How  many  gifts  to  my 
youth  would  be  gifts  to  my  old  age !  Wealth, 
fame,  power,  physical  beauty,  are  all  for  the 
morning    and    the    midday ;    they    are    little 


76  Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

coveted  at  evening.  But  Love  in  its  old  age 
can  keep  the  dew  of  its  youth.  I  have  seen 
a  virtuous  attachment,  which  was  formed  by 
the  girl  and  the  boy,  retain  amid  the  shadows 
its  morning  glow.  The  heart  never  grows 
old  with  time.  It  may  grow  old  with  grief, 
or  bitterness,  or  care — but  not  with  time. 
Time  has  no  empire  over  the  heart.  It  has 
an  empire  over  the  eye,  over  the  ear,  over 
the  cheek,  over  the  hand — but  not  over  the 
heart.  The  heart  may  be  swept  by  storms, 
but  not  corroded  by  decay.  It  keeps  no 
record  of  the  flying  years;  it  is  untouched 
by  the  winter  snow.  The  inscription  upon 
its  gates  is  ever  this:  "There  shall  be  no 
night  there." 

Imperishable  water,  let  me  drink  of  thee! 
Even  here  below  thou  art  the  only  abiding 
thing,  the  only  permanent  protest  against  my 
graves.  Thou  art  Christ  in  me,  the  hope  of 
glory.  Nothing  else  can  be  my  hope  of 
glory.  Other  fountains  are  sealed  by  the 
seasons.  The  sight  grows  dim ;  the  music 
grows  faint;  the  penume  quits  the  flower; 
the  eloquence  deserts  the  lips ;  the  arm  hangs 
heavy ;  the  feet  lag  behind  in  the  race.     But 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.  tj 

thou,  my  heart,  art  ever  springing  even 
when  thou  art  not  singing.  There  is  hope 
in  thy  very  sorrow ;  it  is  thy  protest  and 
thy  prophecy.  Thou  holdest  thy  dead,  not 
in  the  grave,  but  in  thee ;  thou  waterest  the 
roses  round  them ;  thou  wilt  not  let  them  go. 
Thy  tears  are  themselves  a  gush  of  living 
water.  They  are  the  cry  of  possession,  the 
claim  of  right,  the  refusal  to  seal  the  fountain 
of  hope.  Thy  love  is  thy  hope.  Keep  it  ever 
flowing ;  never  let  it  dry !  Better  it  should 
run  with  tears  than  cease  to  run  at  all.  Its 
weeping  and  its  joy  are  alike  prophetic ;  its 
sighing  and  its  singing  are  thy  springs  oi 
endless  life. 


GOD'S    MUSIC-LESSON. 

"  And  no  man  could  learn  that  song  but  the  hundred  and 
forty  and  four  thousand,  which  were  redeemed  from  the  earth." 
— Revelation  xiv.  3. 

There  are  songs  which  can  only  be  learned 
in  the  valley.  No  art  can  teach  them;  no 
master  of  music  can  convey  them  ;  no  rules  of 
voice  can  make  them  perfectly  sung.  Their 
music  is  in  the  heart.  They  are  songs  of 
memory,  of  personal  experience.  They  bring 
out  their  burden  from  the  shadows  of  the 
past ;  they  mount  on  the  wings  of  yesterday. 
What  race  that  never  felt  the  pains  of  exile 
could  sing  that  old  Scottish  song,  "  Oh  why 
left  I  my  hame !  '*  It  could  only  come  from 
the  memory  of  storm  and  stress  driving  the 
wanderer  across  many  a  sea.  St.  John  says 
that  even  in  heaven  there  will  be  a  song  that 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.  79 

can  only  be  fully  sung  by  the  sons  of  earth — 
the  strain  of  redemption.  Doubtless  it  is  a 
song  of  triumph — a  hymn  of  victory  to  the 
Christ  who  has  made  us  free.  But  the  sense 
of  triumph  must  come  from  the  memory  ot 
the  chain.  No  angel,  no  archangel,  can  sing 
it  so  sweetly  as  my  soul.  To  sing  it  as  I  sing 
it  they  must  pass  through  my  exile,  and  this 
they  cannot  do.  None  can  learn  it  but  the 
children  of  the  Cross. 

And  so,  my  soul,  thou  art  receiving  a  music- 
lesson  from  thy  Father.  Thou  art  being  edu- 
cated for  the  choir  invisible.  There  are  parts 
of  the  symphony  that  none  can  take  but  thee. 
There  are  chords  too  minor  for  the  angels. 
There  may  be  heights  in  the  symphony  which 
are  beyond  thy  scale — heights  which  the 
angels  alone  can  reach.  But  there  are  depths 
which  belong  to  thee^  and  can  only  be  touched 
by  thee.  Thy  Father  is  training  thee  for  the 
part  the  angels  cannot  sing ;  and  the  school 
is  sorrow.  I  have  heard  men  say  that  He 
sends  thy  sorrow  to  prove  thee ;  nay,  He  sends 
thy  sorrow  to  educate  thee,  to  train  thee  for 
the  choir  invisible.  In  the  night  He  is  pre- 
paring thy  song.     In  the  valley  He  is  tuning 


8o  Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

thy  voice.  In  the  cloud  He  is  deepening  thy 
chords.  In  the  storm  He  is  enriching  thy 
pathos.  In  the  rain  He  is  sweetening  thy 
melody.  In  the  cold  He  is  moulding  thine 
expression.  In  the  transition  from  hope  to 
fear  He  is  perfecting  thy  lights  and  shades. 
Despise  not  thy  school  of  sorrow,  O  my  soul ; 
it  will  give  thee  a  unique  part  in  the  universal 
song. 


THE    SECULAR    POWER    OF 
CHRIST'S    GOSPEL. 

"He  that  descended  is  the  same  also  that  ascended." — 
Ephesians  IV.  lO. 

The  only  power  that  ever  stooped  to  the 
masses  was  the  power  accustomed  to  the 
heights ;  the  man  that  ^^scended  was  the  man 
who  had  ascended.  The  best  secular  work 
was  done  by  the  most  spiritual  nature.  We 
should  not  have  expected  this.  We  should 
have  thought  that  the  secular  Roman — the 
man  who  never  raised  his  eyes  to  another 
world,  would  have  been  the  kindest  to  this 
world.  We  should  have  thought  that  the 
greatest  sympathy  with  the  invalid  would 
have  come  from  his  fellow-invalid.  But  it 
did  not ;  it  came  from  the  green  fields.  The 
man  on  a  level  with  the  masses  did  not  help 
them;    they  had  to  lift  up  their  eyes  to  the 


82  Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

hills.  The  help  to  those  wounded  in  the 
world  came  not  from  the  world ;  it  came 
from  above.  Men  said,  "  How  beautiful  on 
the  mountains  are  the  feet  of  him  that  bring- 
eth  good  tidings !  '*  The  help  of  the  Roman 
was  not  Rome  but  Christ,  not  earth  but 
heaven,  not  night  but  day,  not  sin  but 
holiness,  not  poverty  but  wealth ;  none  ever 
^^scended  but  He  who  <2scended. 

My  soul,  why  complainest  thou  against 
God  in  the  interest  of  man !  Why  sayest 
thou,  "  I  am  a  humanitarian  ;  do  not  speak 
to  me  of  things  above  when  my  brother  is 
starving ! "  Where  is  the  refuge  of  the 
humanitarian  if  not  above !  It  is  the  man 
of  the  mount  that  stoops  to  the  plain.  Seest 
thou  that  famished  crowd  in  the  desert. 
Their  brother  man  fears  to  aid  them;  he 
is  afraid  the  interests  of  political  economy 
will  suifer,  "  whence  should  we  have  so  much 
bread  in  the  wilderness  as  to  fill  so  great  a 
multitude ! "  But  the  Divine  Man  has  no 
space  for  fear ;  perfect  love  has  cast  out  fear. 
It  did  not  content  Him  that  He  Himself  was 
there  to  minister  to  the  wants  of  the  spirit. 
Compassion  for  the  body  outran  anxiety  for 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.  Ss 

the  spirit.  He  surpassed  the  world  in  its 
own  sphere — its  care  for  to-morrow.  He  put 
the  secularists  to  shame,  the  humanitarians 
to  shame.  He  did  not  tell  them  they  were 
neglecting  heaven ;  He  told  them  they  were 
neglecting  earth.  He  said  they  were  above 
their  own  business — too  high  for  the  things 
they  aspired  to.  He  saw  them  afraid  to  soil 
their  hands  with  their  native  mire.  He  was 
not  afraid.  He  had  gazed  on  the  heights 
supernal,  and  therefore  He  could  bend  to 
the  dust.  He  had  seen  the  King  in  His 
beauty,  and  so  He  could  touch  the  slave  in 
his  deformity.  He  had  bathed  in  the  day- 
spring  from  on  high,  and  therefore  He  could 
cleanse  the  leper  in  the  vale.  The  Man  that 
went  deepest  down  was  the  Man  from  heaven. 


C  3 


THE   HUMILITY   OF  LOVE. 

"  Love  vaunteth  not  itself."— I  Corinthians  xiii.  4. 

This  is  the  main  difference  between  love 
and  duty.  Duty  has  a  sense  of  merit ;  love 
has  none.  Duty  has  always  the  feeling  that 
it  has  done  very  well ;  love  never  admits  that 
it  has  come  up  to  the  mark.  Duty  says, 
"  Lord,  we  have  prophesied  in  Thy  name,  and 
in  Thy  name  done  many  wonderful  works  ; " 
love  cries,  "  When  saw  we  Thee  an  hungered 
and  gave  Thee  meat !  "  Whence  this  humility 
of  love  compared  to  duty!  Is  not  love  the 
higher  of  the  two  !  Duty  is  mere  talent ;  love 
is  genius.  Why  should  genius  be  more 
humble  than  talent?  Because  it  really  has 
less  trouble.  It  is  as  natural  for  genius  to 
soar  as  for  the  bird  to  soar.  It  is  written, 
"  Genius  does  what  it  musi  ;  talent  does  what 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.  85 

it  can,'*  Therefore  is  talent  always  more 
conceited  than  genius ;  it  is  more  conscious  ot 
its  labour  because  it  really  has  more  labour. 
Love  is  the  genius  of  the  heart.  It  does  its 
work  because  it  cannot  help  it — not  because 
it  ought,  but  because  it  must.  That  is  why  it 
repudiates  merit.  That  is  why  it  casts  its 
crown  in  the  dust.  That  is  why  it  declines 
the  laurel  wreath. 

Lord,  I  should  like  to  be  amongst  those 
who  veil  their  faces  before  Thy  throne  ;  it  is 
the  humility  of  genius,  the  humility  of  love. 
I  can  never  have  the  face  veiled  until  I  have 
stood  before  Thy  throne  ;  only  the  men  of  the 
front  view  are  humble.  When  I  was  far  back 
from  the  throne  of  Thy  beauty  I  was  wonder- 
fully vain ;  there  w^as  no  veil  upon  my  face  ; 
I  marvelled  that  the  Cherubim  were  veiled. 
But  as  I  draw  near  I  begin  to  understand. 
It  is  their  revelation  that  makes  their  veil. 
It  is  their  deep  sense  of  love  that  takes  away 
their  sense  of  merit.  They  do  not  feel  the 
stones  beneath  their  feet.  They  do  not  hear 
the  waves  that  lash  their  shore.  They  do  not 
see  the  clouds  upon  their  sky.  Therefore  they 
say :  I  have  no  merit  in  serving  Thee,  O  my 


86  Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

Christ.  I  cannot  help  it.  It  is  no  crown  to 
me  because  it  is  no  choice  to  me.  If  I  had 
less  love  I  might  have  more  vaunting.  If  I 
served  Thee  from  duty  I  might  praise  myself 
every  morning.  But  where  shall  love  find 
room  for  boasting  !  Can  the  mother  vaunt 
her  devotion  to  her  child !  Can  the  brook 
vaunt  its  reflection  of  the  sun !  Can  the 
flower  vaunt  its  drinking  of  the  heavenly  dew ! 
My  love  to  Thee  must  always  make  me  feel 
that  I  am  following  afar  off,  never  so  far  as 
when  nearest  to  Thyself.  My  face  is  most 
deeply  veiled  when  I  stand  before  the  throne. 


THE    SPIRITUAL    MICROSCOPE. 

"One  day  is  with  the  Lord  as  a  thousand  years." — 2  Peter 
III.  8. 

Peter  has  learned  the  use  of  the  micro- 
scope since  he  was  a  youth  in  Galilee.  He 
was  then  all  for  the  telescope — for  bringing 
big  things  near.  He  saw  the  opposite  hills 
across  the  sea  so  near  that  he  thought  he 
could  reach  them  at  a  bound.  To  plant  his 
feet  upon  the  wave,  to  build  his  tabernacle 
upon  the  mountain,  were  his  first  ideals  ot 
glory.  The  aim  of  his  youth  was  to  diminish 
great  things — to  see  a  thousand  years  as  one 
day.  But  with  age  there  has  come  to  him 
the  other  side  of  the  picture — the  magnifying 
of  little  things.  The  microscope  takes  the 
place  of  the  telescope.  He  had  begun  by 
seeing  big  things  as  trifles ;  he  ends  by  seeing 


SS  Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

trifles  as  big  things.  To  the  eye  of  his  youth 
a  thousand  years  were  as  one  day  ;  to  the  eye 
of  his  age  one  day  is  as  a  thousand  years. 

I  should  like  my  latest  experience  to  be 
that  of  Peter — the  experience  of  God*s  micro- 
scope. I  need  it  in  old  age  more  than  in 
youth.  In  age  I  have  the  sense  of  wasted 
years  and  little  time  to  retrieve  them.  I  am 
deterred  from  amendment  by  despair.  How 
can  the  short  time  at  my  command  outweigh 
the  long  years  I  have  squandered !  How 
grateful  is  the  answer  of  God's  microscope — 
"  One  day  is  as  a  thousand  years  !  *'  Thy 
Father  says  to  thy  soul :  "  I  measure  not  thy 
path  by  length  of  time.  One  day  in  My 
courts  can  retrace  the  steps  of  a  thousand 
days  outside  My  courts.  Hast  thou  pondered 
the  meaning  of  the  eleventh  hour!  Hast 
thou  considered  the  promise  to  the  penitent, 
*  To-day  shalt  thou  be  with  Me  in  Paradise ! ' 
Thinkest  thou  he  got  too  generous  measure ! 
He  did  not.  There  was  nothing  pretermitted 
from  his  discipline  ;  it  was  only  compressed. 
He  saw  the  kingdoms  of  the  world  in  a 
moment  of  time — not  in  their  glory  but  in 
their   unrighteousness.     There    are    for    him 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.  89 

and  for  thee  moments  of  acceleration — times 
when  I  bind  together  yesterday  and  to-day 
and  to-morrow.  Say  not  it  is  too  late  to 
retrace  so  long  a  journey !  My  Spirit  has 
wings.  One  day  in  My  chariot  can  bring 
thee  home — home  to  thy  first  purity.  Spring 
into  My  chariot,  thou  that  hast  wandered  far 
astray  !  Spring  into  My  chariot,  and  I  will 
bear  thee  back  in  a  m'gh(—ba.ck  to  the  child 
Jesus,  back  to  the  angels  of  Bethlehem,  back 
to  the  shepherds'  song  !  One  hour  with  Me 
will  redeem  a  thousand  erring  years." 


THE    REST    OF    HOPE. 

"  My  flesh  shall  rest  in  hope."— Psalm  xvi.  9. 

There  are  three  kinds  of  rest  in  this  world 
— despair,  possession  and  hope.  There  is  a 
rest  of  despair — a  stillness  which  comes  from 
the  sense  that  there  is  no  use  to  strive.  There 
is  a  rest  of  possession — a  folding  of  the  hands 
because  we  have  reached  the  top  of  the  hill. 
But  there  is  a  rest  different  from  either — a 
rest  of  hope.  It  is  unlike  despair  because  it 
comes  not  from  the  sense  of  emptiness ;  it  is 
unlike  possession  because  it  comes  not  from 
the  sense  of  fulness.  It  is  not  the  conscious- 
ness of  defeat ;  it  is  not  the  triumph  of  victory ; 
it  is  the  rest  of  prospective  joy.  And  I  think 
the  sleeping-draughts  of  hope  are  those  my 
Father  sends  me  most  of  all.  He  never  sends 
me  despair ;    He  rarely  sends  me  full  posses- 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.  91 

sion;  but  He  giveth  His  beloved  sleep  through 
hope.  Our  calmest  moments  are  our  moments 
of  prospective  joy.  Why  is  youth  so  fearless 
amidst  its  dangers  r  It  is  because  of  its 
dreams.  If  it  saw  the  road  on  which  it  was 
going,  it  would  stand  still.  But  God  hides 
the  present  from  its  eye;  He  shows  it  only 
to-morrow.  We  are  all  somnambulists  in 
youth.  We  walk  not  only  in  a  dream,  but  by 
a  dream.  We  skirt  the  edge  of  the  precipice 
and  do  not  fall.  If  we  saw  it,  we  should  fall. 
But  our  eye  is  far  away — upon  the  hills 
delectable,  upon  the  rivers  of  gold.  One 
sight  of  the  pitfalls  that  surround  us  would 
awaken  us  into  horror ;  but  we  see  only 
straight  before  us  in  the  dream  ;  we  rest  in 
hope. 

Ever  so  lead  me,  O  my  God  !  I  cannot  live 
by  the  day,  and  live  calmly.  There  is  a 
ravine  by  my  side  over  which  I  must  totter  if 
I  look.  The  only  chance  for  me  is  Thy 
somnambulism — walking  in  dreams  of  Thee. 
Send  me  the  sleep  of  Thy  beloved,  the  dream 
of  Thy  beloved  !  Send  me  the  sleep  of  Thy 
Son  upon  the  stormy  sea !  What  made  Him 
sleep  amid  the  storm  !     Truly  his  flesh  rested 


92  Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

in  hope,  not  experience.  So  would  /  rest,  O 
my  Father.  Lead  me  through  the  night  by 
the  vision  of  the  morning !  Guide  me  through 
the  storm  by  dreams  of  the  haven !  Float  me 
o'er  the  flood  by  sight  of  the  olive  leaf! 
Bear  me  above  the  precipice  by  a  straight 
march  for  Thy  glory!  Let  the  angel  of  the 
future  lead  me  into  the  present !  Let  the  light 
of  eternity  prepare  me  for  the  hour  1  Let 
the  sight  of  the  Crown  precede  the  bearing  ot 
the  Cross !  Let  me  see  Thee  before  I  meet  my 
brother!  Let  me  hear  the  bells  of  the  New 
Jerusalem  ere  I  listen  to  any  chimes  of  earth  ! 
The  chimes  of  earth  would  jar  on  me  if  Thy 
bells  did  not  complete  their  symphony.  I 
shall  only  find  repose  when  I  shall  "  rest  in 
hope." 


CHRISTIAN    UNANIMITY. 

•*  I  beseech  Euodias,  and  beseech  Syntyche,  that  they  be  of 
the  same  mind  in  the  Lord."— Philippians  IV.  2, 

St.  Paul  does  not  ask  that  these  women 
should  be  of  the  same  mind,  but  that  they 
should  be  of  the  same  mind  "  in  the  Lord." 
In  the  things  of  earth  unanimity  of  opinion  is 
not  attainable.      Euodias  and  Syntyche  need 
not  be  of  the  same  mind   in  the  gallery  of 
physical  beauty.      One  may  prefer   Raphael, 
the  other  Angelo.     One  may  adore  the  gentle, 
the  other  the  sublime.      One  may  be  riveted 
to  the  vale ;  the  other  may  have  the  eye  fixed 
upon  the  mountain  s  brow.      But  in  the  moral 
gallery  there  is  one  figure  which  brooks  no 
diversity  of  judgment;    it  is   Christ.      He  is 
the  absolute  beauty— the  union  of  all  beauties. 
Raphael  and  Angelo  meet  there.     The  tender 
and  the  sublime  meet  there.     The  valley  and 


94  Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

the  mount  meet  there.  There  rest  in  unity 
what  we  hold  in  contrast.  Peter's  fire  and 
John's  gentleness,  Mary's  mysticism  and 
Martha's  practicalness,  Paul's  depth  and 
Nathaniel's  guilelessness — they  all  rest  there. 
There  meet  the  lordly  tree  and  the  simple 
flower  ;  there  blend  the  river  and  the  stream  ; 
there  unite  the  man  and  the  child ;  there 
repose  the  lion  and  the  lamb.  We  can  all 
gather  there. 

Unite  our  hearts,  O  Lord,  to  praise  Thy 
name !  None  else  can  unite  us.  I  must  go 
up  to  heaven  if  I  want  to  be  made  one  with 
earth.  All  things  below  divide  me  from  my 
brother — my  home  and  its  interests,  my 
wealth  and  its  requirements,  my  Church  and 
its  governments.  The  earth  shows  many 
suns — a  sun  in  the  river,  a  sun  in  the  pool,  a 
sun  in  the  brook,  a  sun  in  the  sea,  a  sun  on 
the  garden  wall.  But  when  I  raise  my  eyes 
to  heaven  these  many  suns  are  all  one  and 
the  same.  Men  are  quarrelling  below  about 
which  is  the  best  sun.  Some  hold  by  that  in 
the  river,  some  swear  by  that  in  the  pool, 
some  walk  by  that  on  the  garden  wall.  They 
would  all  be  at  one  if  they  looked  up  to  Thee. 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.  95 

Thy  light  is  the  union  of  the  many  lights — 
the  river,  the  pool,  the  brook,  the  sea,  the 
garden  wall.  Unite  our  little  systems,  O 
Lord  !  Let  them  cease  to  he — not  by  annihi- 
lation but  by  absorption  !  Let  them  fade,  not 
into  darkness,  but  into  united  light!  Take 
away  the  separating  rim  from  each  of  them  ! 
Reveal  the  delusion  of  the  many  suns  !  Tell 
the  diverse  worshippers  that  they  have  all 
been  unconsciously  seeking  Thee!  Tell  them 
that  the  sun  in  the  river,  and  the  sun  in  the 
pool,  and  the  sun  in  the  sea,  and  the  sun  on 
the  garden  wall  are  all  fragments  of  one  light 
— Thy  light — the  same  yesterday,  and  to-day, 
and  for  ever !  We  shall  all  be  of  one  mind 
when  we  look  at  the  sky. 


A   FALSE    VIEW    OF    SACRIFICE. 

"  Then  the  devil  taketh  Him  up  into  the  holy  city,  and 
setteth  Him  on  a  pinnacle  of  the  temple,  and  saith  unto  Him, 
If  Thou  be  the  Son  of  God,  cast  Thyself  down."— Matthew 
IV.  5,  6. 

The  pinnacle  of  the  temple  means  the 
height  of  religiousness.  Can  one  be  tempted 
in  the  height  of  religiousness  ?  Yes.  There 
is  a  false  view  of  piety — that  which  values 
sacrifice  for  its  own  sake.  The  tempter  asked 
Christ  to  court  danger  because  it  was  danger. 
He  asked  Him  to  manifest  His  piety  by 
putting  Himself  in  a  miserable  condition,  by 
exposing  Himself  to  the  hand  of  death.  No 
man  can  manifest  his  piety  by  his  misery; 
that  was  a  mistake  of  the  tempter.  Piety 
must  be  based  on  joy.  It  is  often  called  to 
sacrifice,  but  never  for  the  sake  of  sacrifice — 
only  for  love's  sake,  joy's  sake.     Christ  never 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.  97 

made  death  a  goal — not  even  on  His  way  to 
Jerusalem.  His  goal  was  always  life,  life 
eternal,  life  for  evermore.  It  was  for  this  He 
endured  the  cross,  it  was  for  this  He  despised 
the  shame.  He  never  dreamed  that  He  would 
please  His  Father  by  the  mere  fact  of  His 
pain.  It  was  the  beauty  of  life,  the  joy  of 
life,  that  made  death  possible  to  Him ;  it  was 
so  beautiful  that  it  was  worth  dying  for.  Not 
sacrifice,  but  jubilee,  was  His  guiding  star  ; 
only  the  heights  of  Olivet  could  have  tempted 
Him  to  the  steep  of  Calvary. 

Why  sayest  thou  then,  my  soul,  that  the 
child  of  thy  Father  should  immolate  himself, 
mutilate  himself,  cast  himself  down  the  pre- 
cipice !  Does  the  parent  bird  love  to  see  its 
offspring  with  a  broken  wing !  Grief  is  ever 
a  broken  wing.  Thy  sorrow  never  helps  thee 
to  fly — not  even  thy  godly  sorrow.  There 
have  been  sorrowful  hearts  that  have  risen  up 
to  heaven's  gates— but  not  by  their  sorrow. 
They  have  risen  on  the  wing  that  was  un- 
broken. Their  power  was  not  the  joy  lost, 
but  the  joy  remaining  ;  they  mounted  on  the 
sunbeam  which  the  cloud  had  spared.  So 
shall   it  be   with   thee.      Do    not    court    the 


98  Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

broken  wing !  If  it  come  to  thee,  thou  needst 
not  despair.  Thou  still  shalt  be  able  to  fly. 
But  thou  shalt  fly  in  spite  of  it,  not  by  reason 
of  it.  Thou  shalt  soar  on  the  wing  that  re- 
maineth,  the  "  rest  that  remaineth/'  Bless 
thy  Father  for  that  remaining  rest !  Bless 
Him  for  thine  unbroken  wing!  Bless  Him 
for  thy  sunbeam  unextinguished  !  Bless  Him 
for  thy  lingering  light !  Bless  Him  for  the 
songs  in  the  darkness  !  Bless  Him  for  the 
lining  in  the  cloud  !  Bless  Him  that  in  all 
thy  falling  thou  hast  never  been  cast  utterly 
down  !  for  it  is  thy  distance  from  the  ground 
that  makes  the  strength  of  thy  faith.  Let  the 
pinnacle  of  thy  temple  be  a  pinnacle  of  joy. 


GOD'S    HELP    IN    TRIBULATION. 

"  He  was  with  the  wild  beasts,  and  the  angels  ministered 
unto  Him." — Mark  i.  13. 

It  was  a  meeting  of  extremes — the  wild 
beasts  and  the  angels !  Two  ends  of  the 
ladder  of  creation  rested  on  the  Son  of  Man ! 
His  human  nature  had  never  been  so  lowly, 
never  so  near  the  ground.  He  was  experi- 
encing what  we  all  at  times  experience — a 
sense  of  the  desert.  The  sheen  had  faded 
from  the  waters  of  Jordan ;  the  dove  had 
departed  ;  the  crowd  had  deserted ;  again  as 
in  His  infancy  He  was  with  the  beasts  of  the 
field.  Yet  it  was  now  again  that  the  angels 
came.  It  is  always  in  His  depression  that  I 
read  of  the  angels  coming — in  the  manger,  in 
the  wilderness,  in  the  garden.  Why  do  they 
come  in  His  depression  ?  Because  there  is  a 
virtue    in    depression  ?     Nay,    the    reverse — 

H   2 


100         Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

because  there  is  a  danger  in  it.  God  will  not 
let  me  have  a  cross  without  the  alabaster 
box  ;  He  fears  the  effect  on  me  of  unqualified 
pain.  There  is  not  in  all  His  Providence  a 
night  without  a  star.  He  plants  a  flower  on 
every  grave,  and  that  flower  is  the  boundary 
line  beyond  which  grief  cannot  go. 

Therefore  it  is,  O  Father,  that  I  do  not  die. 
I  could  not  have  lived  with  the  wild  beasts  if 
the  angels  had  not  come.  I  have  often  mar- 
velled that  I  did  not  die  in  the  desert.  When 
I  saw  it  from  afar  I  said,  "  I  could  not  live 
there."  Yet  I  have  passed  through,  and  my 
life  is  preserved.  The  moment  I  entered  the 
desert  I  felt  a  nameless  strength.  It  was  Thy 
nameless  angel,  O  Father — the  angel  that 
struggled  with  Jacob  to  keep  him  standing 
when  he  seemed  to  fall.  So  should  /  have 
fallen  but  for  Thy  nameless  angel — Thy 
strength  that  passeth  understanding.  It  was 
not  that  my  anticipation  of  the  desert  proved 
false ;  it  was  as  bad  as  I  expected  it  to  be. 
If  I  had  been  left  to  myself,  I  should  have 
grovelled  on  the  ground.  But  the  nameless 
Hand  upheld  me,  the  unseen  Presence  saved 
me,  the  indefinable  Peace  supported  me.     It 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.  ioi 

was  an  incomprehensible  peace.  It  came 
where  it  had  no  right  to  be.  By  all  the  law^ 
of  nature  I  ought  to  have  fallen  ;  the  gravity 
of  the  whole  earth  was  dragging  me  down  ; 
wherefore  did  I  stand  !  It  was  Thy  veiled 
arm  that  held  me.  O  Peace  irrational,  O 
Strength  invisible,  O  Rest  inexplicable,  O 
Power  that  movest  through  shut  doors,  I  have 
lived  by  Thee  !  Thy  staff  in  the  valley.  Thy 
rose  in  the  desert.  Thy  star  in  the  night.  Thy 
crown  in  the  cross,  Thy  bells  in  the  snow. 
Thy  voice  in  the  storm,  Thy  print  in  the 
wounds.  Thine  angel  with  the  beasts  of  the 
field — it  is  they  that  have  comforted  me. 


THE   SECRET  OF  SIN'S  ATTRACTIVE- 
NESS. 

"  The  devil  taketh  Him  up  into  an  exceeding  high  mountain." 
— Matthew  iv.  8. 

When  Satan  tempted  Christ  he  took  Him 
up  to  a  mountain.  He  gave  Him  a  lofty  view. 
He  tried  to  make  Him  feel  that  he  was 
suggesting  something  noble.  He  offered 
Him  the  very  thing  He  was  sent  to  win — the 
kingdoms  of  the  world  and  their  glory.  It  is 
ever  so.  No  man  is  first  tempted  by  sin  as 
sin.  The  power  of  sin  is  its  disguise  of 
beauty.  If  it  appeared  in  its  own  name  we 
should  not  receive  it.  But  when  it  knocks  at 
the  door  it  gives  a  false  name — the  name  of 
virtue.  We  let  it  in  on  false  pretences.  It 
has  the  dress  of  a  seraph,  the  gait  of  an 
archangel,  the  voice  of  a  messenger  from 
heaven.     If  Barabbas  came  as  a  robber,  no 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.  103 

one  would  prefer  him  to  the  Lord.  But 
Barabbas  is  the  mock  Christ,  the  pretended 
Messiah,  the  fancied  Jesus.  He  claims  the 
same  mission.  He  offers  the  same  reward. 
He  points  to  the  same  goal— emancipation, 
freedom,  power.  We  choose  him  by  a 
mistaken  identity.  We  take  him  for  the  Lord 
of  Glory. 

My  soul,  in  thine  hour  of  temptation,  I  am 
not  afraid  of  thy  meanness,  but  of  thy  noble- 
ness. It  is  thy  mountain,  not  thy  valley,  that 
I  fear.  How  often  have  I  seen  thee  in  thy 
youth  led  away  by  a  mistaken  identity — the 
robe  of  Christ  on  the  form  of  Barabbas  !  How 
often  has  the  cup  of  kindness  made  thee 
forget  thy  manhood !  How  often  has  the 
hour  that  men  call  good-fellowship  become 
thine  hour  of  danger!  How  often  has  the 
warm  heart  led  thee  into  quagmires  from 
which  a  colder  heart  would  have  kept  thee 
free !  Wouldst  thou  be  cold,  then  ?  God 
forbid !  Do  not  forsake  thy  mountain  view 
because  it  has  dangers !  Does  Satan  tempt 
thee  by  lofty  hopes  to  sin  ?  By  the  same 
hopes  Christ  tempts  thee  to  good.  All  the 
lures  of  the  tempter  are   the    counterfeits   of 


I04        Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

Him.  His  is  the  true  cup  of  kindness — the 
brotherhood  of  communion.  His  is  the  real 
hour  of  good-fellowship — the  meeting  or 
kindred  souls.  His  is  the  feast  where 
animosities  are  buried,  the  feast  where  in- 
juries are  forgiven,  the  feast  where  the  past 
is  wiped  away.  His  is  the  song  of  the  good 
time  coming — the  song  of  Moses  and  the 
Lamb — the  song  of  triumph  after  toil.  His 
are  the  kingdoms  of  the  world  and  their  glory, 
the  earth  and  the  fulness  thereof.  Keep  thine 
exceeding  high  mountain,  O  my  soul ;  but 
greet  upon  its  summit  not  Barabbas  but 
Christ ! 


THE  GLORIES  OF  EASTER  MORN. 

'*  Made  of  the  seed  of  David  according  to  the  flesh,  and 
declared  to  be  the  Son  of  God  with  power,  by  the  resurrection 
from  the  dead."— Romans  i.  3,  4. 

Easter  Day  was  a  new  Christmas  Day; 
it  was  the  second  birth  of  Christ.  His  second 
birth  was  grander  than  His  first.  His  first 
birth  was  under  disadvantages.  The  dis- 
advantage lay  not  in  the  manger,  but  in 
the  royal  lineage.  The  swaddling  bands  that 
circumscribed  Him  were  not  the  facts  of  His 
poverty,  but  the  glories  of  His  ancestors; 
the  royal  line  of  David  separated  Him  from 
the  main  line  of  humanity.  But  when  He 
came  from  the  dead  He  changed  his  lineage. 
He  broke  with  the  line  of  David— with  all 
lines  but  the  lowliest.  His  second  life  was 
not  from  Bethlehem :  it  was  from  the  common 
dust  of  all  cities— from  the  city  of  the  dead. 


io6         Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

We  think  of  Him  as  nearer  to  us  when  a  child. 
That  is  a  great  mistake.  As  a  child  He  was 
always  the  Jewish  Messiah — nearer  to  the 
tribes  of  Israel  than  to  the  tribes  of  Man. 
But  with  Easter  morn  He  came  up  from  the 
depths — from  the  dust  of  death.  He  came 
from  the  place  where  all  join  hands;  and 
that  is  the  secret  of  His  resurrection  power. 
We  all  meet  in  the  lowest  valley.  We  do 
not  all  meet  on  the  highest  mountain,  on 
any  mountain.  We  are  not  made  one  by 
joy ;  the  privilege  of  the  Jew  divides  him 
from  the  Gentile.  But  calamity  makes  us 
one ;  sin  and  death  make  us  one.  Christmas 
morning  was  beautiful,  but  it  came  from 
the  fields  of  gold;  Easter  morning  is  more 
precious,  for  it  comes  from  the  miry  clay. 

Therefore,  O  Morn,  I  greet  thee !  Thou 
hast  a  message  of  hope  for  my  lowliest  hour, 
a  promise  of  rising  for  my  most  prostrate 
moment.  I  could  not  greet  Elijah's  chariot; 
I  could  not  greet  Enoch's  disappearance. 
These  were  not  the  conquest  of  my  lowliness ; 
they  were  the  flight  from  it.  They  did  not 
master  the  forces  of  decay;  they  escaped 
them  ;  they  passed  death  by.     But  thou,  mine 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.  107 

Easter  Day,  hast  risen  from  the  great  sea. 
Thou  hast  come  from  out  the  wave  that  has 
engulfed  all  the  world.  Thou  hast  raised 
thy  head  from  the  night  and  from  the  cold. 
Thou  hast  shone  out  from  the  unsh'm'mg 
place — the  place  of  my  despair.  Thou  hast 
rung  the  bells  of  joy  over  the  scene  of  my 
desolation.  Thou  hast  made  the  wilderness 
glad  ;  thou  hast  caused  the  desert  to  blossom. 
The  fir-tree  has  sprung  where  the  thorn  was 
expected;  the  myrtle  has  come  forth  where 
the  briar  ought  to  have  been.  Thou  hast 
made  the  unlikely  spot  to  praise  thee;  the 
hope  which  thou  bringest  is  hope  from  the 
dead. 


THE    CURE    FOR    BITTERNESS. 

*•  They  could  not  drink  of  the  waters  of  Marah,  for  they  were 
bitter ;  and  the  Lord  showed  him  a  tree,  which  when  he  had 
cast  into  the  waters,  the  waters  were  made  sweet." — Exodus  xv. 
23  and  25. 

"  When  he  had  cast  a  tree  in  the  waters, 
the  waters  were  made  sweet/'  It  was  a 
strange  remedy.  One  would  have  thought  it 
was  a  case  for  extraction,  not  addition.  The 
burden  of  bitterness  is  a  very  heavy  one. 
When  it  comes  to  us  our  first  cry  is,  "  Empty 
out  the  waters!"  "No,"  says  the  Divine 
voice,  "  instead  of  emptying  them,  put  some- 
thing more  in  them  !  "  And  truly  the  Divine 
voice  is  right.  What  we  need  for  our  bitter- 
ness is  not  the  removal  of  things,  but  the  see- 
ing of  them  in  a  new  relation.  The  Psalmist 
speaks  of  a  tree  planted  by  rivers  of  water. 
A-  tree  makes  a  great  difference  to  our  view 
of  the  water  j  it  may  change  it  from  monotony 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.  109 

into  beauty  ;  it  adds  a  new  fact  to  the  old 
thing.  So  is  it  with  my  calamities ;  one 
added  point  of  knowledge  will  chase  them 
away.  When  the  child  is  first  going  to 
school,  it  often  sheds  the  waters  of  IMarah. 
How  will  you  cure  these  waters  r  By  keeping 
him  from  school  r  God  forbid !  Show  him 
the  developed  tree!  Show  him  the  fruit  of 
knowledge!  Show  him  that  without  school 
he  will  be  a  solitary  man  —  mindless  in  a 
thinking  world !  The  sight  of  the  tree  in  the 
waters  will  make  the  waters  sweet. 

O  Thou,  whose  suffering  was  sweetened  by 
the  sight  of  the  redeeming  tree,  make  Thine 
experience  my  own !  I  do  not  ask  that  the 
waters  be  assuaged  on  the  face  of  my  earth  ; 
I  dare  not  ask  that  ;  but  tell  me  that  the 
waters  are  nourishing  my  tree  !  Send  out 
Thy  light  and  Thy  truth  ;  let  them  lead  me  ! 
Show  me  it  is  impossible  the  cup  should  pass 
from  me  if  I  am  to  grow ;  put  the  free  in  my 
waters  !  I  do  not  ask  any  more  than  New- 
man, to  see  the  distant  sceVie ;  but  I  want  to 
see  something  which  is  not  distant — Thy  will. 
I  do  not  pray  to  know  where  the  waters  are 
going ;  but  I  do  want  to  see  where  they  are 


no         Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

coming  from.  I  wish  to  feel  that  they  are 
from  Thee.  Tell  me  that,  and  I  am  satisfied. 
They  may  rise  up  to  the  brim  if  they  come 
from  Thee.  It  is  revelation,  not  emancipa- 
tion, I  need.  Let  the  waters  remain;  but 
shine  through  them,  shine  across  them,  shine 
beneath  them,  O  Lord  1  Show  me  Thy  way 
in  the  sea !  Reveal  Thy  path  in  the  deep  ! 
Reflect  Thy  light  in  the  waters  !  Put  thy 
music  in  the  rolling  billows  !  Say,  when  the 
storm  is  walking  through  the  waves,  "It  is 
I" !  Then  shall  there  be  no  bitterness  in  the 
taste  of  the  brine ;  the  waters  will  be  sweet 
if  they  are  shared  by  Thee. 


THE    BEGINNINGS    OF    PRAYER. 

"  And  he  called  his  name  Enos  ;  then  began  men  to  call  upon 
the  name  of  the  Lord."— Genesis  iv.  26. 

"  Then  *' ;  why  not  before  ?  Why  did  the 
hour  of  prayer  only  come  in  the  days  of 
Enos  ?  Enos  had  fallen  on  degenerate  days — 
days  of  Paradise  lost.  Why  did  prayer  begin 
then  !  Why  did  it  not  begin  in  Paradise  I 
Was  not  God  nearer  to  uniallen  than  to 
fallen  man !  Was  not  Eden  flooded  with  the 
Divine  presence !  Yes ;  and  therefore  there 
was  no  place  for  prayer;  it  was  all  praise. 
You  cannot  see  the  stars  except  by  night. 
You  can  see  more  gorgeous  things  by  day, 
but  not  these  special  things  called  stars. 
Even  so  with  the  day  and  night  of  the  soul. 
Eden  was  the  day.  It  was  the  fulness  of  God, 
the  enjoyment  of  God,  the  beatific  vision  of 
the  eye.     But  for  that  very  reason  there  was 


112         Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

no  sense  of  need,  no  prayer.  Prayer  could 
only  come  with  the  night,  with  the  need.  It 
is  incompatible  with  full  fruition.  It  needs 
the  shadow  to  make  its  starlight,  the  silence 
to  make  its  music,  the  want  to  make  its  cry. 
It  is  the  bow  set  in  the  cloud,  and  it  could  be 
set  in  no  other  thing. 

And  so,  my  Father,  there  is  a  compensation 
for  my  night.  I  have  been  driven  out  from 
Eden  into  the  land  of  swamps  and  marshes. 
But  in  the  land  of  swamps  and  marshes  I 
have  found  something  I  could  not  meet  in 
Eden — the  gate  of  prayer.  Eden  had  no  gate, 
because  it  had  no  need  for  an  opening.  It 
was  all  open  together.  There  were  no 
prisons  to  escape  from,  no  fetters  from  which 
to  be  free.  But  the  land  of  the  stranger  has 
given  me  the  gate,  because  it  has  given  me 
the  wall.  It  has  made  me  less  near  to  Thee. 
It  has  put  a  barrier  between  us.  It  has 
caused  me  to  miss  Thee,  to  feel  the  want 
of  Thee,  to  cry  for  Thee.  My  Christ  is  gone 
into  a  far  country,  and  I  stretch  my  hands  to 
Him.  Yet  there  is  beauty  in  the  stretching  of 
the  hands,  the  calling  upon  Thy  name — His 
name.     It  is  only  the  beauty  of  starlight ;  yet 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.  113 

starlight  has  a  glory  that  belongs  not  to  the 
day.  It  is  something  to  see  Thee  when  Thou 
art  passing  by ;  but  to  cry  for  Thee  when 
Thou  art  past  has  a  music  all  its  own.  It  is 
love  in  absence,  love  in  Paradise  lost.  It  is 
the  refusal  of  my  soul  to  be  weaned  from  Thee 
by  distance  or  disaster;  it  is  the  prodigal's 
protest  against  the  husks  of  the  swine.  I 
thank  Thee  that  the  loss  of  Eden  has  brought 
the  hour  of  prayer. 


THE    PATH    OF    SACRIFICE. 

'*  There  is  a  path  which  no  bird  of  prey  knoweth  ;  and  which 
the  vulture's  eye  hath  not  seen." — Job  xxviii.  7. 

I  UNDERSTAND  the  meaning  of  Job's 
parable  to  be  this :  "  You  say  I  must  be  a 
great  sinner  because  I  have  reaped  no 
material  reward.  Is  man,  then,  a  bird  ot 
prey,  a  vulture  feeding  upon  the  flesh !  Are 
there  no  rewards  but  those  of  the  body !  It 
so,  then  this  world  is  indeed  a  mystery.  For 
there  is  a  path  where  material  reward  is 
unknown.  The  bird  of  prey  finds  no  place 
therein,  the  vulture  no  home.  It  is  the  path 
of  sacrifice.  They  who  tread  that  way 
receive  no  outward  crown.  Am  I  a  sinner 
because  I  have  brought  home  no  fleshly 
reward  !  There  is  a  path  where  the  rewards 
are  all  unseen;  and  only  the  highest  walk 
in  it;   its  name  is  Love.     Those  who   travel 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.         115 

by  it  get  nothing  in  return  ;  they  bring  back 
no  sheaves,  Is  it  because  of  their  sin  they 
bring  back  no  sheaves  ?  Nay,  but  because 
of  their  holiness — their  love.  Their  joy  is 
what  they  give,  not  what  they  get.  They 
do  not  prey  upon  others  ;  they  are  preyed 
upon.  That  is  their  glory,  that  is  their  re- 
compense— to  empty  themselves,  to  lavish 
themselves,  to  be,  not  the  vulture,  but  the 
voluntary  victim  of  the  vulture.  Their 
heaven  is  the  worldling's  hell  —  unselfish- 
ness/* 

O  Thou,  who  hast  trod  the  path  unknown 
to  the  vulture  and  the  bird  of  prey,  I  bow 
this  day  to  Thee!  Thou,  too,  didst  bring 
nothing  home  "after  the  flesh."  No  visible 
crown  rewarded  Thee.  No  outward  plaudits 
greeted  Thee.  No  material  kingdom  owned 
Thy  sway.  Thine  was  the  cross  from  dawn 
to  dark,  the  dying  from  morn  to  even.  Men 
said,  "  He  must  be  a  great  sinner  since  he 
is  so  unprosperous ;  let  him  come  down  from 
the  cross  and  we  will  believe  in  him  ! "  They 
did  not  see  Thine  inward  joy.  Thy  real 
prosperity.  They  did  not  see  that  the  path 
of  love  is   itself  the   path   of  self-surrender, 

I  a 


ii6         Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

that  Thy  cross  made  Thy  crown.  But  I  see 
it,  and  I  come  to  Thee.  The  world  will 
wonder ;  the  vulture  will  marvel ;  the  bird 
of  prey  will  be  astonished.  They  see  only 
the  outside,  and  therefore  they  see  nothing. 
But  my  heart  knows  its  own  joy,  and  it  is 
Thy  joy — love  emptying,  love  surrendering, 
love  gathering  flowers  from  out  the  thorns 
with  bleeding  hand  to  strew  another's  way. 
Thy  path  may  be  wet  with  tears,  but  they 
are  the  tears  of  the  rainbow :  show  me  Thy 
path,  O  Lord! 


PETER'S    WISH. 

"  But  the  God  of  all  grace,  who  hath  called  us  unto  His 
eternal  glory  by  Christ  Jesus,  after  that  ye  have  suffered  a  while, 
make  you  perfect." — i  Peter  v.  io. 

What  a  singular  wish!  The  singular 
thing  about  it  is  the  blot  in  the  middle — "after 
ye  have  suffered  awhile."  What  would  you 
think  of  getting  the  wish  from  a  friend — "  I 
hope  you  will  have  sunshine,  but  not  till  after 
rain  *' !  Yet  this  is  what  Peter  desires  for  you. 
He  forecasts  for  you  in  his  heart  all  the  gifts 
and  graces  of  the  Christ-life  ;  but  he  asks  that 
you  may  not  get  them  without  struggle — 
only  "  after  ye  have  suffered  awhile."  Does  it 
not  come  with  a  singularly  bad  grace  from 
Peter — a  man  who  could  not  wait  five  minutes 
for  anything,  who  saw  ever  the  crown  before 
the  cross  !  Nay,  my  brother,  that  is  just  the 
explanation  of  the  wish.     He  spoke  from  bitter 


ii8         Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

experience  of  his  own  past.  He  had  come 
into  his  kingdom  too  soon.  He  had  obtained 
his  crown  before  he  could  support  its  cares. 
His  faith  had  been  drenched  in  the  brine  ;  his 
love  had  been  cooled  in  the  judgment-hall ; 
as  he  sat  by  the  fire  he  had  cried,  "  I  know  not 
the  man ! "  That  is  why  his  wish  becomes 
beautiful.  He  says:  "I  do  not  want  you  to  be 
like  me — finding  the  keys  too  soon.  I  do  not 
want  you  to  be  innocents — pure  because  there 
is  no  cloud,  calm  because  there  is  no  wind, 
honest  because  there  is  no  temptation,  loyal 
because  there  is  no  danger.  I  wish  yours  to 
be  the  bloom  of  the  flower — struggling  from 
below,  of  the  day — emerging  from  the  night, 
of  the  man— outgrowing  the  child.  May  He 
who  has  called  you  to  glory  by  the  cross 
perfect  you  only  *  after  ye  have  suffered 
awhile ' !  " 

Even  so  would  we  pray,  O  Father.  There 
is  a  peace  which  we  would  not  possess, 
because  it  is  not  the  peace  of  Thy  Son. 
There  is  a  silence  which  is  mere  emptiness — 
the  calm  of  the  deaf;  it  is  the  stillness  of 
vacancy.  Be  not  that  our  peace,  O  God ! 
We  cannot  know  Thy  stillness  till  it  is  broken. 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.  119 

We  cannot  see  Thy  beauty  till  it  is  shaded. 
We  cannot  reap  the  healthy  benefit  of  Thine 
air  till  we  have  shrunk  from  the  breath  of 
another  air.  We  see  Thee  not  in  Thy  full 
glory  till  we  have  met  the  tempter  in  the 
wilderness.  Thy  sun  comes  after  rain ;  Thy 
day  comes  after  night ;  Thy  calm  comes  after 
storm ;  Thy  music  comes  after  discord ;  Thy 
joy  comes  after  pain ;  Thy  freedom  comes 
after  slavery ;  Thy  life  comes  after  death. 
There  is  no  music  in  the  silence  till  we  have 
heard  the  roar  of  battle ;  Thine  eternal  glory 
would  be  too  long  for  us  if  we  did  not  first 
"  suffer  a  while." 


THE  RESPONSIBILITIES  OF  HEAVEN. 

"  An  eternal  weight  of  glory.'* — 2  Corinthians  iv.  17. 

"A  WEIGHT  of  glory" ! — that  is  a  very  strange 
expression.  We  commonly  associate  a  weight 
with  oppressiveness.  It  is  something  which 
keeps  us  down,  prevents  us  from  flying  into 
the  air,  restrains  the  exuberance  of  joy.  Is 
it  not  singular  that  such  a  simile  should  be 
taken  to  mark  the  advent  of  glory  !  Should 
we  not  expect  to  hear,  not  of  triumphant 
weightedness,  but  of  triumphant  wings !  I 
can  understand  the  significance  of  the  words, 
"  They  shall  mount  up  as  eagles.*'  I  can  see 
the  force  of  the  command,  "  Lay  aside  every 
weight  and  run ! "  But  why  dress  the  new 
life  in  the  old  grave-clothes !  Why  recall  a 
metaphor  of  death  !  Why  speak  of  the  Lord's 
joy  as  a  weight  of  glory  ! 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.  121 

Because,  my  soul,  the  joy  of  thy  Lord  ts  a 
weightedness.  The  transit  from  earth  to 
heaven  is  not  an  emancipation  from  care ;  it 
is  an  emancipation  from  care  about  thyself. 
He  only  empties  thee  that  thou  mayst  be 
filled  again — filled  with  a  higher  care,  love's 
care.  There  is  a  weight  which  is  only  felt  in 
heaven,  and  which  is  heaven's  glory;  it  is  the 
labour  of  love.  It  has  hardly  begun  here  ;  it 
is  the  praise  that  "  waiteth  for  God  in  Zion." 
There  is  a  burden  which  has  long  deterred 
thee  from  lifting  God's  burden  ;  it  is  the 
thought  of  thine  own  morrow.  From  that 
weight  thy  Lord  fain  would  set  thee  free. 
But  why  ?  Not  that  thou  mightst  be  a 
winged  butterfly  flitting  from  flower  to  flower. 
Nay,  but  that  thou  mightst  bear  a  larger 
weight  —  the  weight  of  humanity  —  Christ's 
weight  of  glory.  The  joy  of  thy  Lord  is  not 
a  bird's  song;  it  is  a  heart's  enlargement. 
The  risen  Christ  remains  not  in  the  garden ; 
He  must  ascend  to  the  cares  of  His  Father. 
The  place  prepared  for  thee  is  no  scene  of 
luxurious  ease,  no  plot  of  ground  enclosed 
from  mortal  pain.  There  is  a  gate  leading 
into  the  highways  and  the  hedges,  opening 


122         Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

out  into  the  far  country  of  the  prodigal  son. 
And  through  this  gate  thy  Father  would  have 
thee  go — to  minister,  to  succour,  to  save. 
This  is  the  place  prepared  for  thee  in  the 
mansions  of  thy  Father.  This  is  the  ivory 
gate  and  golden  where  the  angels  go  out  and 
in.  This  is  the  narrow  way  which  leadeth 
unto  life ;  and  they  who  have  found  that  life 
retrace  the  road  to  bring  their  brother  in. 
Thy  weight  of  responsibility  will  be  thy 
weight  of  glory. 


THE    SECRET    OF     CHRIST'S    GLORY. 

"  As  many  were  astonished  at  Thee,  His  visage  was  so 
marred  ...  so  shall  He  sprinkle  many  nations." — ISAIAH 
LII.  14,  15. 

The  idea  I  take  to  be,  "  In  proportion  to 
His  reverses,  so  will  be  His  power;  in  pro- 
portion to  the  marring  of  His  visage  will  be 
His  dominion  over  the  nations."  That  is  a 
very  original  sentiment.  It  is  not  the  common 
experience  in  the  lives  of  men.  The  ordi- 
nary rule  is  that  we  succeed  in  proportion  to 
our  victories.  The  Egyptian,  when  he  in- 
scribes an  epitaph  upon  the  tomb,  never  tells 
of  the  reverses  of  his  hero;  he  deems  the 
flowers  of  life  the  best  preservers  of  immor- 
tality. But  the  Prophet  says  there  will  be  an 
exception  to  the  rule — a  man  whose  glory 
will  come  from  what  the  world  calls  shame. 
He  says  the  marred  visage  will  be  the  one 


124         Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

face  in  the  gallery,  the  observed  of  all  ob- 
servers, the  admired  of  all  admirers.  The 
observation,  the  admiration,  will  be,  not  in 
spite  of,  but  by  reason  of,  the  marring;  it 
will  be  inspired  by  His  cross. 

Son  of  Man,  the  paradox  is  realised  in 
Thee.  It  is  Thy  marred  visage  that  has  made 
Thee  King.  That  by  which  Thou  livest  to- 
day is  the  thing  by  which  men  sought  to  kill 
Thee.  It  is  Thy  crown  of  thorns  that  has 
made  Thy  crown  of  glory.  Not  by  Thy 
moments  of  outward  majesty  dost  Thou  sur- 
vive in  our  hearts  to-day.  Not  by  the  glories 
of  Mount  Tabor,  not  by  the  wonders  of  Lake 
Gennesaret,  not  even  by  the  prophecies  at 
Jerusalem's  gate,  dost  Thou  sway  the  empire 
of  our  souls.  It  is  Thy  Cross  that  draws  us. 
Thy  blood  that  saves  us.  If  we  bow  before 
Thy  rising  from  the  grave,  it  is  because  in 
Thy  risen  body  we  find  the  prints  of  the  nails. 
We  worship  in  Thee  the  thing  we  once 
despised.  We  once  recoiled  from  those  who 
suffered  pain.  We  said  in  Judea,  "They  are 
the  enemies  of  God ;  "  we  said  in  Rome, 
**  They  are  unfit  for  the  work  of  Man,"  But 
in   Thee   pain   has  been  glorified.     In   Thee 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.         125 

the  weakest  has  become  the  survivor.  In 
Thee  the  last  is  made  first.  In  Thee  the 
grave-clothes  have  become  earth's  royalest 
robes.  In  Thee  sorrow  has  been  turned  into 
joy,  defeat  into  victory,  death  into  life.  In 
Thee  the  thing  deemed  impure  has  become 
the  purifier ;  men  have  washed  their  robes  in 
Thy  blood  and  made  them  white.  The 
valley  of  the  shadow  becomes  in  Thee  my 
gate  of  glory;  I  am  no  longer  astonished 
that  Thy  visage  was  so  marred. 


THE    NATURE    OF    DIVINE 
FORGIVENESS. 

"  I  have  sinned  against  heaven  .  .  .  make  me  as  one  of 
thy  hired  servants.  But  the  father  said,  Bring  forth  the  best 
robe  and  put  it  on  him."— Luke  xv.  i8,  19,  22. 

There  are  no  degrees  in  forgiveness.  There 
are  degrees  in  the  holiness  that  follows  for- 
giveness ;  but  pardon  must  be  perfect  at  its 
birth.  Forgiveness  restores  each  man  to  the 
place  he  had  before  he  fell.  If  the  prodigal 
had  been  a  hired  servant  previous  to  his  fall,  he 
would  have  been  made  a  hired  servant  again. 
There  would  have  been  no  sting  in  that ;  it 
would  have  involved  no  stigma.  But  to  make 
him  a  servant  after  he  had  been  a  son  would 
have  perpetuated  the  pain  of  memory.  Nothing 
impedes  my  progress  like  remembrance  of  a 
dark  yesterday.  When  the  page  is  already 
blotted  I  am  apt  to  blot  it  more.     I  lose  heart ; 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.  127 

I  say,  "  It  is  already  tarnished  ;  what  does  it 
matter  now !  "  If  I  am  to  get  a  fair  start,  it 
must  be  a  bright  start — a  start  with  the  ring 
and  the  robe.  It  will  not  help  me  that  you 
lift  me  from  the  far  country  if  you  give  me  a 
place  second  to  my  former  self.  That  second 
place  is  my  yesterday,  and  I  should  walk  by 
its  darkness.  It  would  dog  my  footsteps  ;  it 
would  never  let  me  go.  I  should  not  feel  that 
sin  was  unworthy  of  me,  below  me.  I  should 
always  be  fingering  my  ticket  of  leave.  I 
should  never  be  able  to  soar  for  the  remem- 
brance of  the  irons  ;  memory  would  clip  the 
wings  of  hope. 

Therefore,  O  Father,  I  am  glad  that  the 
robe  has  preceded  my  merits.  I  am  glad  Thou 
hast  clothed  me  in  beauty  before  I  deserved 
it.  I  am  glad  Thy  smile  has  not  waited  for 
my  well-doing.  It  is  only  by  Thy  smile  I 
ever  shall  do  well ;  the  white  robe  of  Thy 
Christ  alone  will  keep  me  pure.  Give  me  the 
morning  star — the  star  ere  work  begins !  Give 
me  the  music  and  the  dancing  of  Thy  house 
in  advance  of  my  labours  !  Give  me  the  light 
of  Thy  countenance  when  I  am  still  untried, 
unproved!      I  would   not   seek   to  win  Thy 


128         Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

smile;  I  would  win  hy  it.  Let  Thy  love 
precede  my  toiling  !  Let  Thy  favour  outrun 
my  day!  Let  Thy  pardon  come  before  my 
earning!  Do  not  put  me  on  hire  !  Do  not 
take  me  on  probation  !  Send  out  Thy  light 
before  all  things  ;  make  me  glad  ere  I  have 
learned  to  be  good  !  When  I  am  clothed  in 
Thy  white  robe,  I  shall  seek  the  far  country 
no  more. 


THE    SACREDNESS    OF    ART. 

"  As  well  the  singers  as  the  players  on  instruments  shall  be 
there  ;  all  my  springs  are  in  Thee."— Psalm  lxxxvii.  7. 

Whether  you  take  the  Authorised  or 
Revised  Version,  I  hold  the  meaning  to  be 
the  same — that  in  the  good  time  coming  art 
will  be  deemed  a  part  of  religion.  The 
musicians  will  sit  down  among  the  saints 
because  all  our  springs  are  religious  springs. 
No  music,  no  painting,  no  sculpture,  no 
poetry,  will  any  more  be  deemed  secular. 
They  will  all  be  recognised  as  the  inspiration 
of  God.  And  are  they  not  so !  Is  not  the 
source  of  art  the  same  as  the  source  of 
religion !  Do  not  both  spring  from  the  one 
feeling — the  wish  for  something  better  !  The 
saint  and  the  artist  both  picture  another 
world  because  to  both  the  present  is  unsatis- 
factory.    Each   conceives   a    higher    beauty. 


130        Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

Each  imagines  a  fairer  sky,  a  purer  air,  a 
lovelier  life.  Each  matures  from  a  sense  of 
want,  of  dissatisfaction  with  things  below. 
Each  strives  to  erase  the  blots  in  the  present 
system.  Each  aims  at  the  building  of  a 
palace  which  will  supply  the  omissions  of  the 
human  architect.  Each  has  one  and  the 
same  motto,  **  We  seek  a  better  country." 

Teach  me,  O  Lord,  the  sacrament  ot  art ! 
Teach  me  Thy  real  presence  in  the  efforts 
after  earthly  beauty  !  Reveal  to  me  that  my 
poetic  moments,  my  musical  moments,  my 
artistic  moments,  are  moments  of  unconscious 
prayer,  expressions  of  my  want  of  Thee  !  1 
need  Thee  in  the  temple  of  nature  as  much  as 
I  need  Thee  in  the  temple  of  grace.  Why  do 
I  fancy  other  scenes  than  these  before  me  ? 
Why  do  I  depict  more  perfect  forms  than  life 
has  yielded  ?  Why  do  I  sing  more  melodious 
songs  than  the  brook,  more  stirring  anthems 
than  the  sea  ?  It  is  because  I  am  not  satis- 
fied. It  is  because  my  heart  cries  out  for 
more  than  Nature — for  Thee.  I  should  have 
no  art  if  I  had  no  religion.  I  consider  the 
lily  of  the  field,  but  it  does  not  content  me. 
I  consider  the  song  of  the  brook,  but  it  does 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.         131 

not  fill  me.  I  consider  the  joys  of  life,  but 
they  do  not  come  up  to  me ;  I  was  made  for 
Thee.  Therefore  I  paint  other  fields,  I  weave 
other  songs,  I  fancy  other  joys ;  and  all  the 
time  I  am  in  search  of  Thee,  Thou  art  my 
picture,  my  poem,  my  song;  my  dream  of 
beauty  is  a  dream  of  Thee.  It  is  because  I 
have  seen  Thy  face  that  I  seek  a  new  heaven 
and  a  new  earth ;  it  is  because  I  have  heard 
Thy  voice  that  I  aspire  to  richer  than  Nature's 
music.     "  All  my  springs  are  in  Thee." 


K  % 


THE    DIGNITY    OF   DIVINE    SERVICE. 

"Jesus  knowing  that  He  was  come  from  God,  and  went  to 
God,  took  a  towel  and  girded  Himself,  and  began  to  wash  the 
disciples'  feet."— John  xiii.  3,  4,  5. 

I  HAVE  heard  the  passage  explained  thus : 
Although  perfectly  conscious  of  His  very 
high  birth  and  His  very  high  destiny,  Jesus 
nevertheless  submitted  to  perform  an  act  of 
humiliating  service.  I  do  not  like  that 
explanation.  It  makes  the  ministrant  act 
of  Jesus  something  foreign  to  His  nature, 
something  alien  to  His  descent  and  to  His 
goal.  My  reading  of  the  passage  is  exactly 
the  opposite :  "  Jesus,  conscious  that  He 
came  from  a  land  of  love  and  went  to  a 
land  of  love,  felt  that  there  was  no  sacrifice 
and  no  humiliation  in  this  particular  act  of 
service.*'  He  did  not  feel  that  He  was 
stooping  below  Himself  in  washing  the  feet 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.         133 

of  the  disciples.  He  had  not  the  sense  of 
doing  anything  unworthy  of  His  royalty,  dis- 
paraging to  His  claims  of  Sonship.  It  was 
not  felt  to  be  an  act  of  condescension.  It 
came  natural  to  Him.  The  spirit  of  ministra- 
tion was  in  His  blood ;  He  got  it  by  heredity 
from  His  Father.  In  the  light  of  His  ante- 
cedents, in  the  light  of  His  prospects,  He  was 
unable  to  help  it.  It  was  His  native  air.  His 
primitive  culture,  the  necessity  of  His  being, 
the  law  of  His  life. 

My  brother,  hast  thou  considered  this  argu- 
ment for  service !  It  is  not  because  thou 
shouldst  be  humble  that  thou  art  called  to 
serve;  it  is  to  prevent  thee  from  being  too 
humble.  It  is  because  service  is  a  Divine 
thing  that  God  calls  thee  to  it.  It  is  not  to 
humiliate  thee  that  He  bids  thee  work  in  the 
vineyard  ;  it  is  to  save  thee  from  humiliation. 
In  thy  Father's  land  the  servants  are  the 
upper  circle.  It  is  the  lower  circle  that  is 
waited  upon,  they  whose  lamps  are  gone  out. 
Is  it  not  written,  "  He  shall  carry  the  lamhs 
in  His  bosom  " — the  weaklings  of  the  flock  ! 
Wouldst  thou  always  be  a  lamb — a  member  of 
the  lower  circle !     Dost  thou  not  hear  a  voice 


134         Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

saying,  "  Come  up  higher" !  Obey  that  voice, 
my  brother !  Put  on  thy  menial  robes  !  The 
apparel  of  the  heavenly  spheres  becomes  less 
gorgeous  as  we  climb.  The  wedding  garment 
is  a  soiled  garment.  Thou  shalt  know  the 
souls  in  front  by  the  homeliness  of  their  garb. 
They  are  dressed  for  the  road,  for  the  dust, 
for  the  mire.  They  have  the  livery  of  the 
hospital,  the  trappings  of  the  infirmary.  They 
are  weighted  with  implements  of  service. 
They  carry  the  ligaments  for  wounds,  the 
salves  for  pain.  Men  say,  "  Who  are  these 
that  have  the  air  of  serving  by  day  and  by 
night }  Who  are  these  with  apparel  so 
stained,  with  robes  so  dyed .? "  And  the 
answer  comes  clear  from  the  pure  heaven, 
"  This  is  the  whiteness  of  God ;  these  are 
they  in  front  of  the  throne." 


THE    CHRISTIAN    COMFORT. 

"Walking  in  the  midst  of  the  fire."— Daniel  hi.  25. 

The  fire  did  not  arrest  their  motion ;  they 
walked  in  the  midst  of  it.  It  was  one  of  the 
streets  through  which  they  moved  to  their 
destiny.  The  comfort  of  Christ's  revelation 
is  not  that  it  teaches  emancipation  from 
sorrow ;  every  faith  does  that.  But  Christ 
teaches  emancipation  through  sorrow.  Did 
you  ever  ask  yourself  the  precise  difference 
between  a  prison  and  a  tunnel.  No  man 
would  hesitate  for  a  moment  which  he  would 
rather  be  in.  But  why  ?  Not  on  the  ground 
of  darkness,  for  the  tunnel  is  the  darker  of 
the  two.  Not  on  the  ground  that  the  prison 
is  disgrace,  for  there  have  been  prisons  more 
glorious  than  palaces.  It  is  because,  in  the 
prison,  life  is  arrested ;  in  the  tunnel  it  moves 


136        Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

on.  The  cell  of  my  confinement  may  be 
glorious,  but,  however  glorious,  I  am  losing 
time.  The  tunnel,  on  the  other  hand,  may  be 
dark,  but,  however  dark,  I  am  gaining  time. 
I  am  not  retarded  by  a  moment  in  my  mission 
of  life ;  nay,  I  am  getting  a  short  cut  to 
the  goal.  I  am  not  merely  in  the  valley  of 
the  shadow;  I  am  walking,  yea,  running 
through  it. 

Glad  me  with  this  comfort,  O  my  God  ! 
Teach  me,  when  the  shadows  have  gathered, 
that  I  am  in  the  tunnel,  not  in  the  prison ! 
It  is  not  enough  for  me  to  know  that  it  will 
be  all  right  some  day.  Even  if  that  day  were 
come,  the  sight  of  this  hour  would  be  a  blot 
to  me  unless  it  were  seen  to  have  been  part 
of  the  way.  They  tell  me  I  shall  stand  upon 
the  peaks  of  Olivet — the  heights  of  resurrec- 
tion glory.  But  I  want  more,  O  my  Father ; 
I  want  Calvary  to  lead  up  to  it.  I  want  to 
know  that  the  shadows  of  this  world  are  the 
shades  of  an  avenue — the  avenue  to  the  house 
of  my  Father.  The  avenue  shades  may  be  as 
dark  as  the  prison  shades,  but  the  thought  will 
make  all  the  difference  to  me.  Tell  me  my 
shadows  come  from  the  trees  —  the  trees  of 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.  137 

Thy  planting  !  Tell  me  they  are  the  entrance 
to  the  many  mansions  of  Thy  palace  !  Tell 
me  they  stop  not  for  an  hour  my  chariot 
wheels !  Tell  me  I  am  only  forced  to  climb 
because  Thy  house  is  on  the  hill !  Give  me 
the  evidence  that  I  am  ascending,  not  merely 
toiling  !  Teach  me  that  I  am  coming  nearer 
by  letting  me  hear  the  voices  clearer — the 
music  and  the  dancing  less  far  away !  I  shall 
receive  no  hurt  from  sorrow  if  I  shall  walk  in 
the  midst  of  the  fire. 


GUIDANCE    BY    INFERIOR    MOTIVES. 

"And  he  [the  lame  roan  at  the  gate  Beautiful]  gave  heed 
unto  them,  expecting  to  receive  something  of  them.  Then 
Peter  said,  Silver  and  gold  have  I  none  ;  in  the  name  of  Jesus 
Christ  of  Nazareth  rise  up  and  walk."— Acts  hi.  5,  6. 

"  Expecting  to  receive  something."  We 
are  all  led  on  by  expectations  beneath  the 
reality.  We  sit  at  the  Beautiful  Gate  for  the 
sake  of  silver  and  gold.  The  child  in  the 
Sabbath  School  never  dreams  that  its  prize  is 
the  lesson ;  it  works  with  a  view  to  the 
excursion.  The  boy  in  the  day-school  deems 
not  that  his  prize  is  knowledge  ;  he  strives 
for  the  gold  or  silver  medal.  God  always 
brings  us  to  the  Beautiful  Gate  by  the  hope  of 
inferior  things.  We  come  to  anoint  a  dead 
body  with  spices ;  we  get  more  than  we 
bargained  for — a  living  Christ. 

My  Father,  I  thank  Thee  that  Thou  hast 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.         139 

led  me  to  the  beautiful  by  human  aids  and 
motives.  I  never  could  have  come  for  the 
reality;  that  was  above  my  understanding. 
It  was  of  no  use  to  say  to  me,  "  You  are 
impotent  in  your  limbs ;  let  me  teach  you  to 
walk  !  '*  I  had  forgotten  the  joy  of  walking. 
I  had  no  remembrance  of  the  glad  sense  of 
locomotion ;  I  needed  a  lower  motive  than 
the  vigour  of  manhood.  And  so,  my  Father, 
Thou  earnest  to  me  with  the  grapes  of  Eshcol. 
They  clustered  on  the  tree ;  they  glittered  in 
the  sun.  They  appealed  to  all  that  belonged 
to  me — my  senses.  I  longed  to  get  near 
them  ;  I  struggled  to  approach  them.  I  began 
to  sigh  for  the  power  of  movement.  It  was 
only  a  sigh  for  grapes,  not  yet  for  manhood  ; 
yet  it  was  accepted  by  Thee.  It  was  counted 
to  me  for  righteousness.  Thy  love  imputed 
to  my  longing  more  than  was  there.  It  did 
not  repel  me  from  the  Beautiful  Gate,  though 
I  expected  less  than  Thee.  I  walked  with 
Thee  rather  for  the  view  than  for  the  company, 
yet  Thou  didst  not  send  me  away.  O  Love, 
Divine  Love,  unselfish,  unjealous  Love,  I 
marvel  in  retrospect  at  Thee.  I  marvel  at 
Thy  self-forgetfulness,  the  sinking  of  all  pride. 


140        Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

the  regardlessness  of  personal  victory.  I 
followed  Thee  for  the  bread  in  the  desert,  for 
the  wine  in  Cana,  for  the  hosannas  in  Jeru- 
salem. My  lower  motive  was  known  to  Thee, 
Yet  Thou  didst  bid  me  come.  My  poverty  of 
heart  was  before  Thee,  yet  Thou  didst  bid  me 
come.  The  meanness  of  my  rags  was  in  Thy 
sight,  yet  Thou  didst  bid  me  come — content 
if  even  for  the  love  of  silver  I  should  stand  by 
the  golden  gate. 


MENTAL    WEARINESS. 

"  Consider  Him  ....  lest  ye  be  wearied  and  faint  in  your 
minds."— Hebrews  xii.  3. 

What  a  strange  cure  for  mental  weariness  ! 
There  is  prescribed  an  increase  of  thought, 
*'  consider  Him."  I  should  have  expected  an 
invitation  to  mental  rest.  When  a  man's  body 
is  weary,  we  send  him  to  sleep.  When  a 
man's  mind  is  weary,  why  do  we  not  also 
prescribe  repose?  Because  the  weariness  of 
the  mind  needs  an  opposite  cure  from  the 
weariness  of  the  body.  The  weariness  of  the 
body  is  cured  by  slumber ;  but  the  weariness 
of  the  mind  can  be  cured  only  by  stimulus. 
The  cry  to  a  languid  body  is,  "  Sleep  on  now, 
and  take  your  rest ; "  the  cry  to  a  languid 
mind  is,  "Awake,  thou  that  sleepest,  and 
arise  from  the  dead."     To  all  who  labour  in 


142         Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

spirity  Christ  says,  "  Come  unto  me."  He 
prescribes  not  a  sedative,  but  an  irritant;  not 
more  sleep,  but  more  waking.  To  the  man 
of  the  weary  ha7td  He  says,  "  Cast  your  cares 
upon  Me ;  "  but  to  the  man  of  the  weary 
heart  he  cries,  **  Take  My  yoke  upon  you." 

Lord,  it  is  wings  1  need  for  my  weariness — 
love's  wings.  That  which  tires  my  heart  is 
not  its  toil,  but  its  inaction.  It  will  never 
cease  to  be  tired  until  it  can  soar — soar  to 
Thee.  The  burden  and  heat  of  my  spiritual 
day  is  not  its  work,  but  its  aimlessness  ;  give 
me  an  aim,  O  Lord!  Sometimes  even  the 
entrance  of  an  earthly  friend  transforms  my 
soul  from  languor  into  light ;  much  more 
shalt  Thou  if  Thou  wilt  enter  in.  I  want  a 
new  interest  to  heal  my  heart's  weariness — 
some  one  to  live  for,  some  one  to  work  for, 
some  one  to  wait  for,  some  one  to  long  for. 
It  is  my  want  of  longing  that  makes  my  want 
of  strength  ;  it  is  my  listlessness  that  brings 
my  languidness.  Create  a  new  heart  within 
me — an  eager,  beating,  bounding  heart,  a 
heart  vibrating  in  response  to  Thy  love  !  Let 
me  feel  the  passion  and  the  pathos  of  life,  ot 
Thy  life  !     Let  me  be  taken  captive  by  Thy 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.  143 

beauty  !  Let  me  catch  the  spell  of  Thy  love- 
liness !  Let  me  be  thrilled  at  the  sound  of 
Thy  footsteps  !  Let  me  learn  the  rapture  of 
hearing  Thy  name  !  Let  me  experience  the 
glow  of  excitement  when  the  murmur  runs 
round,  "  Jesus  of  Nazareth  passeth  by ! " 
Then  shall  the  weariness  of  the  heart  vanish, 
then  shall  the  languor  of  the  spirit  cease; 
for  the  liberty  of  flight  is  the  Sabbath  of  the 
soul.  Then  we  shall  mount  up  with  wings  as 
eagles  ;  we  shall  not  faint  nor  be  weary. 


GOD'S  REST  IN  MAN. 

"  The  spirit  of  man  is  the  candle  of  the  Lord."— Proverbs 
XX.  27. 

The  benighted  traveller  in  the  snow  has 
sometimes  caught  sight  of  a  candle  in  a 
shepherd's  hut.  It  has  been  to  him  the  most 
joyful  of  all  moments  ;  it  is  the  promise  of  rest. 
Even  such,  I  think,  is  the  thought  of  the 
proverb.  The  man  who  uttered  it  knew  well 
the  saying  of  the  old  book  of  Genesis,  that 
when  God  had  wandered  six  days  through 
creation  He  rested  in  man.  He  had  been  led 
on  by  the  glimmer  of  one  candle — the  light  ot 
a  human  soul.  It  was  the  only  place  of  rest 
the  Father  saw  in  all  the  vast  expanse. 
There  was  no  other  dwelling  for  the  spirit  of 
my  Father  but  my  spirit.     He  could  not  find 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.  145 

shelter  in  any  other  home.  Not  "  where  the 
bee  sucks"  could  my  Father  dwell.  Not 
where  the  bird  sings  could  His  heart  be  glad. 
Not  where  the  cattle  browse  could  His  life 
repose.  Not  where  the  stars  shine  could  He 
find  His  household  fire.  One  far-off  candle 
alone  gave  the  sign  of  home.  It  was  my 
spirit. 

My  Father,  I  have  often  asked  Thee  to  be 
my  light;  what  a  wondrous  thought  that  I 
once  was  Thine  !  I  have  been  Thy  candle  in 
the  dark  and  cold  ;  Thou  wert  moving  toward 
me.  When  the  foundation  of  the  earth  was 
laid  Thou  wert  moving  toward  me.  When  the 
plant  and  tree  arose  Thou  wert  moving  toward 
me.  When  the  breath  of  life  appeared  Thou 
wert  moving  toward  me.  The  sixth  morning 
was  the  last  from  Thy  handy  but  it  was  the 
first  in  Thy  heart.  The  candle  was  more  to 
Thee  than  the  sunlight.  Thou  wert  in  search 
of  a  light,  not  brighter,  but  better  than  the 
sun — the  sparkle  of  a  human  eye,  the  radiance 
of  a  human  face ;  that  was  the  candle  that 
beckoned  Thee.  It  said  to  Thee  through  the 
night,  "  Come  here,  and  rest !  *'  It  offered 
Thee  what  all  past  creation  could  not  offer — 


146        Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

communion.  The  brightness  of  the  sun  could 
not  give  it.  The  beauty  of  the  flower  could 
not  give  it.  The  song  of  the  bird  could  not 
give  it.  Thy  Sabbath  waited  for  me.  The 
bells  of  the  day  of  rest  could  not  ring  till  a 
heart  had  responded  to  Thy  heart,  a  life  to 
Thy  life,  a  will  to  Thy  will.  Thou  wert  like  a 
dove  on  the  face  of  the  waters  till  the  light  in 
my  dwelling  appeared.  But  that  candle 
brought  Thee  joy — ^joy  unspeakable  and  full 
of  glory.  It  was  the  first  sound  of  home 
amid  the  waste  of  waters — the  earliest  voice 
that  bore  the  invitation,  "  Abide  with  me ! " 
Ever  more,  my  Father,  may  I  give  Thee  this 
welcome  home. 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  BEREAVEMENT. 

"  As  an  eagle  stirreth  up  her  nest  .  .  .  ,  so  the  Lord  alone 
did  lead  him."— Deuteronomy  xxxii.  ii,  12. 

What  a  startling  thought— that  the 
breaking  up  of  the  nest  is  an  act  of  God's 
benevolence!  I  always  looked  upon  it  as 
a  calamity.  We  are  all  familiar  with  the 
experience  of  the  breaking-up  of  home.  We 
remember  the  glad  circle  round  the  old  fire, 
and  how  it  grew  thinner  and  thinner.  One 
went  to  the  colonies;  one  went  out  to  be  a 
governess ;  one  departed  with  a  stranger  to 
a  house  of  her  own  ;  more  than  one  passed 
into  the  silent  land.  I  always  thought  it  a 
subject  for  tears.  But  here  is  an  old  writer 
who  makes  it  a  subject  for  praise,  blesses 
God  for  it,  declares  it  to  be  the  first  step  of 
my  education !  I  can  understand  God's  love 
in   many   things.     I   can   understand   why   I 

L  2 


148         Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

should  praise  Him  for  His  gifts  to  body  and 
soul.  But  I  lose  my  breath  in  surprise  when 
I  am  asked  to  make  the  first  stanza  of  my 
hymn  the  adoration  of  His  mercy  in  loosing 
the  ties  of  home ! 

Nay,  my  soul,  it  is  to  strengthen  these  ties 
that  thy  Father  breaks  up  the  nest.  It  is 
not  to  get  rid  of  home  He  would  teach  thee 
to  fly.  It  is  that  thou  mayst  learn  by  travel 
that  thy  home  is  wider  than  thy  nest.  He 
would  have  thee  learn  that  in  thy  Father's 
house  are  many  mansions,  of  which  thy  nest 
is  only  one.  He  would  tell  thee  of  a  brother- 
hood in  Christ  which  includes,  yet  transcends, 
thy  household  fires.  He  would  tell  thee  of 
a  family  altar  which  makes  thee  brother  to 
the  outcast,  sister  to  the  friendless,  father 
to  the  homeless,  mother  to  the  sick,  son  to 
the  feeble,  daughter  to  the  aged— in  kinship 
to  all.  Dost  thou  remember  how  the  child 
Jesus  in  the  temple  lost  His  parents  for  a 
time.  It  was  to  Him  the  first  breaking  ot 
the  nest ;  it  made  Him  think  in  His  solitude 
of  the  wider  house  of  His  Father.  So  is  it 
with  thy  temple,  O  my  soul.  Thy  parents, 
thy  brothers,  thy  sisters,  leave  thee  behind ; 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.  149 

and  in  the  vacant  place  there  arises  a  new 
altar — humanity.  Thy  Father  has  given  thee 
wings  in  the  nighty  wings  in  the  breaking  of 
thy  ties.  Thou  hast  soared  by  thy  sorrow; 
thou  hast  loved  by  thy  loss ;  thou  hast 
widened  by  thy  weeping;  thou  hast  grown 
by  thy  grief;  thou  hast  broadened  in  being 
broken ;  thou  hast  enlarged  thy  sympathy 
by  emptying  out  thy  treasures.  The  storm 
that  shook  thy  nest  taught  thee  to  fly. 


ARRESTED    EVILS. 

"  God  is  our  refuge." — Psalm  xlvi,  i. 

You  will  distinguish  between  a  refuge  and 
a  strength.  You  stand  during  a  lashing 
shower  under  a  tree.  You  are  much  wet ; 
but  no  bad  results  follow.  You  say,  "I  am 
indebted  to  my  strong  constitution."  Yes, 
my  brother,  but  that  should  be  only  the  halt 
of  your  thanksgiving.  You  are  thinking  only 
of  the  drops  which  fell  and  which  your 
strength  mastered.  Have  you  ever  con- 
sidered the  drops  which  did  not  fall — the 
drops  which  were  absorbed  by  the  tree ! 
That  was  your  refuge,  and  I  think  you  were 
most  indebted  to  that.  You  are  right  to  re- 
member your  stre?tgth^  the  power  to  resist  the 
rain ;  but  should  you  forget  the  rain  that 
never  came,  that  was  prevented  from  coming! 
Why  have  you  no  altars  in  memory  of  your 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.         151 

unshed  tears,  your  arrested  tears  !  Why  have 
you  no  pillar  to  commemorate  these  stones  of 
Bethel  on  which  you  did  not  lie  !  Why  have 
you  no  monument  to  the  spot  where  you  were 
saved  from  sacrifice  by  the  ram  caught  in  the 
thicket !  You  have  a  wreath  for  your  victories; 
have  you  none  for  your  averted  battles  !  You 
have  a  crown  for  sorrow  borne,  have  you 
none  for  sorrow  spared  !  You  have  a  hymn 
to  the  strength;  why  not  to  the  refuge 
also ! 

Thou  Christ  of  love,  who  hast  borne  more 
than  the  half  of  my  rain-clouds,  let  me  build 
an  altar  to  Thee  !  I  have  stood  beneath  the 
tree  of  Thy  life,  and  have  caught  but  little  of 
the  shower ;  the  largest  drops  have  fallen  on 
Thee.  The  tree  of  Calvary  has  sheltered  me. 
If  I  had  caught  the  storm's  full  blast  I  must 
have  died.  But  the  storm  has  spent  itself  on 
Theey  and  I  live  in  calm.  Thy  night  has 
been  my  day  ;  Thy  struggle  has  procured  my 
rest.  The  garden  in  which  I  sit  was  once 
called  Gethsemane ;  but  it  is  Gethsemane  no 
more.  The  sweat-drops  that  fell  from  Thy 
brow  have  been  dried  for  77ie.  Thou  hast 
extracted   the   thorn,    and   left   me  only   the 


152         Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

rose.  The  privilege  of  to-day  was  the  pain 
of  yesterday ;  it  was  purchased  by  blood — 
Thy  blood.  I  bless  Thee  for  my  shelter 
under  the  tree.  I  bless  Thee  for  the  drops 
that  did  not  reach  me.  I  bless  Thee  for  the 
tears  I  have  not  been  forced  to  shed.  I  bless 
Thee  for  the  battles  unfought,  for  the  trials 
untouched,  for  the  sacrifices  unneeded,  for  the 
lamentations  unspoken.  I  bless  Thee  that 
from  so  many  storms  I  can  hide  myself  in 
Thee^. 


CRIMINAL    REFORMATION. 

«  Lift  up  the  hands  which  hang  down,  and  the  feeble  knees, 
lest  that  which  is  lame  be  turned  out  of  the  way ;  but  let  it 
rather  be  healed. "—Hebrews  xii.  12,  13. 

I  UNDERSTAND  the  passage  to  mean,  "  It  is 
better  to  reform  the  erring  than  to  extinguish 
them/'     There  are  two  methods  by  which  the 
road  may  be  cleared  of  the  lame— either  by 
turning  them  out  of  the  way  or  by  healing 
their    lameness.       The    first    is    the    drastic 
method.     It  would  purify  the  air  by  killing 
those  who  are  diseased ;  it  would  starve  the 
leper  and  the  Magdalene.     The  second  is  the 
method  of  Christ ;  it  would  lift  up  the  hands 
that   hang  down   and    reanimate   the   feeble 
knees.     The  first  was  the  world's  method — 
the  Roman's  method.      It  said  of  every  un- 
promising tree,  "Cut  it  down;  why  cumbereth 
it  the  ground  1 "     But  the  second  said,  "  Wait 


154         LEAVES  FOR  Quiet  Hours. 

till  I  have  digged  round  about  it ;  pause  till 
I  have  tried  the  effect  of  a  better  environ- 
ment! I  would  rather  have  it  healed  than 
killed/' 

Lord  of  love  and  beauty,  I  thank  Thee  that 
Thou  hast  sacrificed  the  beauty  to  the  love. 
I  thank  Thee  that  Thou  hast  suffered  the 
barren  fig  tree  to  cumber  the  beauty  of  the 
ground  ;  it  is  a  breach  of  art,  but  it  is  a 
triumph  of  love.  There  are  many  things 
whose  absence  would  make  Thy  world  more 
fair.  There  are  tares  sown  among  the  wheat, 
and  they  mar  the  glory  of  Thy  field.  "  Wilt 
Thou  that  we  go  and  gather  them  up  ? "  cry 
a  thousand  voices.  If  it  depended  on  us 
there  would  not  be  one  spared.  The  tares 
offend  our  sense  of  beauty ;  in  the  interest  of 
art  we  would  sweep  them  away.  But  with 
Thee  there  is  a  deeper  interest  than  art;  it 
is  love.  Men  cry,  "  Put  out  the  lame  from 
the  company  of  the  runners ;  they  spoil  the 
picture  !  "  Thou  sayest,  "  Gather  them  in  still 
more  !  *'  Thou  surroundest  the  imperfect  with 
the  pure  that  they  may  inhale  their  purity. 
Thou  settest  a  spiritual  child  in  the  midst  of 
the  spiritually  strong.     Thou  placest   a  pes- 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.  155 

sessed  soul  at  the  foot  of  the  Transfig-uration 
Mount.  Thou  suflferest  an  outcast  woman  to 
touch  Thee  with  her  tears.  All  the  briars  of 
Thy  garden  are  laid  beside  the  roses.  Thou 
wouldst  have  beauty  to  commune  with  de- 
formity. Thou  bringest  Judas  himself  to  the 
farewell  feast  of  love  on  the  chance  that  he 
may  catch  the  glow.  I  bless  Thee  that  Thou 
hast  put  art  below  love.  I  bless  Thee  that 
the  symmetry  has  been  sacrificed  to  the  sym- 
pathy. I  bless  Thee  that  in  Thy  temple  the 
lame  man  stands  beside  the  gate  of  beauty ; 
it  mars  the  prospect  to  the  eye,  but  it  opens 
up  a  prospect  to  the  heart. 


THE  VALUE  OF  GOOD  CHEER. 

"  Thou  shalt  compass  me  about  with  songs  of  deliverance/* — 
Psalm  xxxii.  7. 

Why  ^^ songs  of  deliverance"  ;  why  not 
"  deliverance  "  itself  ?  Because  the  best  way 
to  deliver  a  man  from  calamity  is  to  put  a 
song  in  his  heart.  There  are  some  who  sink 
under  their  calamity,  and  there  are  some  who 
swim  through  it.  I  think  you  will  find  that 
the  difference  between  these  lies  in  the 
comparative  amount  of  their  previous  cheer. 
The  balance  generally  turns  on  the  hearing  or 
not  hearing  of  yesterday's  song.  They  who 
have  the  song  already  in  their  heart  pass  over 
the  Red  Sea ;  they  who  have  heard  no 
previous  music  are  submerged  in  the  wave. 
We  speak  of  the  physical  strength  for  bearing 
an  operation.  Are  we  aware  how  much  of 
the  strength  required  is  not  physical  ?     I  had 


Leaves  for  quiet  Hours.  157 

a  letter  lately  from  one  at  a  far  distance. 
She  was  about  to  undergo  a  severe  physical 
operation.  She  stated  the  day  and  hour 
when  it  was  to  take  place.  She  said  she 
would  like  at  that  day  and  hour  to  have  the 
knowledge  that  some  one  was  thinking  of  her, 
that  some  one  was  praying  for  her,  that  some 
one  was,  spiritually,  holding  her  hand.  She 
recovered.  Will  anybody  say  that  the 
strength  by  which  she  bore  the  strain  was 
purely  physical !  Will  anybody  say  that  the 
song  in  the  heart  went  for  nothing  !  In  any 
crisis  moment  I  should  say  it  would  turn  the 
scale.  Sometimes  my  physical  chances  seem 
equally  balanced  between  life  and  death.  At 
such  moments  a  previous  song  in  the  heart 
will  give  the  vote  for  the  prolonging  of  my 
days. 

My  Father,  compass  me  with  Thy  songs  ! 
It  is  not  the  songs  after  the  battle  that  I  ask ; 
my  own  heart  will  give  me  these.  What  I 
need  is  a  song  before  the  battle.  I  can  easily 
get  the  song  of  Moses  ;  what  I  require  is  the 
song  of  the  Lamb.  The  song  of  Moses  came 
after  the  triumph  ;  it  was  the  psean  of  victory. 
But  the  song  of  the  Lamb  is  previous  to  the 


158         Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

conflict.  It  was  sung  ere  Gethsemane  was 
entered.  It  preceded  the  hour  of  sacrifice. 
Before  the  sweat- drops  fell,  before  t?ie  struggle 
woke,  before  the  perils  of  the  night  arose, 
Thou  didst  send  to  Jesus  Thy  voice  from 
heaven — Thy  promise  ot  glory.  Thou  didst 
compass  Him  before  the  battle  with  songs  of 
deliverance.  He  took  a  light  with  Him  into 
the  valley.  Not  joyless  did  He  meet  the  foe. 
He  stood  by  the  warm  fire  ere  He  went  out 
into  the  cold.  He  felt  the  pressure  of  a 
hand  ere  He  faced  the  silence.  Thy  song  was 
with  Him  in  the  night;  it  waited  not  for 
morning.  The  flower  got  into  the  heart 
earlier  than  the  thorn,  and  it  deadened  the 
thorn.  Be  mine  this  song  of  the  Lamb — this 
song  before  deliverance  !  The  song  of  Moses 
can  be  delayed  till  the  conflict  is  over ;  but  I 
cannot  dispense  with  that  other  music — the 
song  before  the  sacrifice — the  song  of  the 
Lamb! 


LOVE'S  STRUGGLE  AND  REST. 

'*  In  the  beginning  God  created  the  heaven  and  the  earth  ; 
.  .  .  .  and  the  Spirit  of  God  moved  upon  the  face  of  the 
waters." — Genesis  i.  i,  2. 

"  And  I  saw  a  new  heaven  and  a  new  earth  ;  and  there  was 
no  more  sea.."— Rev  ELATION  xxi.  I. 

These  are  quotations  from  the  first  and  the 
last  chapters  of  the  biography  of  Divine 
Love.  Nothing  can  exceed  their  contrast. 
The  one  is  Love's  winter;  the  other  is  her 
summer.  The  one  is  Love's  struggle;  the 
other  is  her  rest.  The  one  is  Love's  move 
ment  on  the  waters  ;  the  other  is  the  drying 
up  of  her  sea.  In  the  one  we  see  Love  toss- 
ing on  the  wave,  toiling  in  the  dark,  working 
in  the  void.  In  the  other.  Love  has  reached 
her  haven,  secured  her  sunshine,  filled  the 
void  spaces  with  souls  at  peace.  And  such, 
I  think,  is  ever  the  course  of  redeeming  Love; 
it  begins  with  movement,  and  it  ends  with 


i6o         Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

rest.  It  must  have  its  Genesis  before  it  can 
make  its  Revelation.  At  first  its  light 
shineth  in  darkness,  and  the  darkness  com- 
prehendeth  it  not.  There  is  a  great  void  in 
front  of  it ;  it  puts  out  its  hand,  but  gets  no 
touch  of  sympathy.  If  you  want  to  redeem 
me,  you  must  begin  by  taking  me  as  I  am — ■ 
with  my  darkness  and  my  emptiness.  You 
must  not  expect  me  to  understand  your 
Revelation.  You  must  at  the  outset  lift  my 
whole  cross  without  one  touch  of  help  from 
me.  But,  when  I  reach  the  Revelation  ot 
your  life,  /  shall  lift  your  cross.  I  shall  be 
eager  to  lighten  your  labours,  to  give  you 
rest.  I  shall  say,  "  Let  thy  work  be  my 
work!"  I  shall  break  through  the  void  to 
meet  you.  I  shall  come  to  you  on  the  waters 
— come  without  being  bidden.  I  shall  open 
to  you  a  harbour  in  my  heart,  and  you  shall 
repose  there. 

O  Thou  who  hast  been  seeking  me  on  the 
waste  of  waters,  I  long  to  give  Thy  Spirit 
rest!  Thy  love  has  been  long  struggling 
with  my  lovelessness.  There  has  been 
nothing  responsive  in  my  heart  to  Thine  all 
through   these   days   of  my   creation ;   Thou 


K) 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.         i6i 

hast  been  walking  alone  in  the  depth  of  the 
sea.  I  have  been  dark  to  Thy  light,  empty- 
to  Thy  fulness,  formless  to  Thy  beauty.  The 
cross  has  been  all  on  one  side — Thy  side. 
But  now  my  Genesis  is  past  and  my  Revela- 
tion is  come.  I  have  caught  a  glimpse  of 
what  it  is  to  love.  Hitherto  Thou  hast  been 
moving  and  I  have  been  motionless  ;  I  would 
reverse  the  picture,  O  Christ.  I  would  take 
Thy  place  upon  the  waters ;  I  would  give 
Thee  rest.  Thou  hast  been  all  the  day  bear- 
ing my  cross ;  let  me  take  part  in  Thine  ! 
Let  me  find  a  home  in  my  heart  for  Thee  !  I 
often  pity  the  ship  that  was  tossed  on  the  Sea 
of  Galilee ;  but  I  seldom  remember  that  Thy 
feet,  too,  were  on  that  sea.  Help  me  to  re- 
member it ;  help  me  never  to  forget  it !  Ever 
let  me  keep  an  Ararat  for  Thine  Ark  in  the 
flood !  Ever  in  my  Bethany  let  my  door  be 
open  to  receive  Thee  !  Ever  in  Thine  hour  of 
night  may  it  be  mine  to  say,  "  Abide  with  us, 
for  the  day  is  far  spent !  *'  So  shall  Thy 
Spirit  cease  to  move  on  the  waters. 


KJ 


PAUL'S    LOVE-SONG. 

*  *  God  forbid  that  I  should  glory,  save  in  the  cross  of  our 
Lord  Jesus  Christ,  through  whom  the  world  is  crucified  unto  me, 
and  I  unto  the  world." — Galatians  vi.  14. 

Can  anything  make  the  bearing  of  a  cross 
glorious  r  Many  things  can  make  a  cross 
endurable ;  patience  can,  pride  can,  despair 
itself  can.  But  can  anything  make  it  a  glory  ? 
I  know  of  only  one  thing  that  can — love  !  It 
has  been  often  said  that  love  will  go  through 
fire  and  water  for  its  object.  But  Paul  says  a 
great  deal  more  than  that.  He  says  that  love 
courts  the  fire  and  water.  I  think  he  is  right. 
I  believe  the  morning  stage  of  all  love  is  a 
craving  for  the  cross.  Peter  is  no  abnormal 
specimen  when  he  cries,  "  Bid  me  that  I  come 
to  Thee  on  the  water ! "  He  has  been  charged 
with  the  love  of  display ;  it  was  really  the  love 
of  Jesus.     All  love,  secular  and  sacred,  begins 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.         163 

with  the  cry  for  martyrdom.  The  earliest 
imagination  in  the  heart  of  love  is  not  that  of 
a  gilded  palace  ;  it  is  that  of  a  terrible  battle 
in  which  it  is  fighting  for  its  object's  life 
and  joy.  Its  morning  picture  is  the  den 
of  lions ;  its  opening  fancy  is  the  fiery  fur- 
nace ;  its  primitive  desire  is  to  brave  the  Sea 
of  Galilee.  Its  birth-cry  is  the  cry  for  priva- 
tion. Its  morning  note  is  always,  everywhere, 
a  sentiment  which  has  been  clothed  in  words 
by  a  Scottish  poet  and  set  to  the  music  of  a 
German  master : 

**  Oh,  wert  thou  in  the  cauld  blast, 
On  yonder  lea,  on  yonder  lea, 
My  plaidie  to  the  angry  airt, 
I'd  shelter  thee,  I'd  shelter  thee  ; 
Or  did  misfortune's  bitter  storms 
Around  thee  blaw,  around  thee  blaw, 
Thy  shield  should  be  my  bosom, 
To  share  it  a',  to  share  it  a'." 

My  soul,  thy  love  for  Jesus  is  but  the  per- 
petuation of  love's  natural  morning!  There 
are  not  two  kinds  of  love.  Pure  love  is  like 
pure  water — the  same  in  bay  as  in  mid  ocean's 
deep.  Thy  love  for  Jesus  is  the  prolonging 
of  the  morning  star.  Hast  thou  considered 
this  love-song  of  Paul's.  It  is  a  love-song  to 
Jesus — the  oldest  in  the  world.      Hast  thou 

M  2 


164        Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

considered  how  like  it  is  to  all  pure  songs  of 
love.  Listen  to  its  music  ! — "  I  should  glory 
to  be  with  Thee  in  the  garden  ;  I  should  revel 
to  be  near  Thee  on  Thy  cross.  Oh  that  Thy 
wilderness  were  mine  to  share ;  oh  that  Thy 
waters  were  mine  to  tread !  Meet  me  in  some 
spot  where  I  can  help  Thee,  in  some  hour 
when  I  can  aid  Thee  !  Not  under  the  dome 
of  night  where  Thou  art  strong  and  I  am 
weak — not  in  the  gorgeous  palaces  where 
Thou  art  rich  and  I  am  poor,  would  I  meet 
Thee  !  But  at  the  Garden  gate  where  still 
Thou  suiferest,  on  the  Dolorous  Way  where 
still  Thou  climbest,  in  the  Bethany  church- 
yard where  still  Thou  weepest,  at  Samaria's 
well  where  still  Thou  thirstest,  in  Jerusalem's 
streets  where  still  Thy  heart  is  broken — I 
would  meet  Thee  there  !  Meet  me  in  Thy 
lane  and  alley ;  meet  me  in  Thy  garret  and 
hovel ;  meet  me  in  Thy  wards  of  sickness ; 
meet  me  in  Thy  vigils  with  the  sad  ;  meet  me 
on  Thy  road  to  the  prodigal ;  meet  me  in  Thy 
house  of  the  leper  ;  meet  me  on  Thy  track  ot 
the  fallen !  My  proudest  height  of  glory  will 
be  the  foot  of  Thy  Cross !  " 


CHRISTIAN    ENFRANCHISEMENT. 

"He  placed  at  the  east  of  the  garden  a  flaming  sword  to  keep 
the  way  of  the  tree  of  life."— Genesis  hi.  24. 

"To  him  that  overcometh  will  I  give  to  eat  of  the  tree  of 
life,  which  is  in  the  midst  of  the  Paradise  of  God."— Revela- 
tion II.  7. 

Can  a  thing  be  bad  on  Monday  and  good 
on  Tuesday  !  Here  is  for  the  same  act  the 
issuing  of  two  opposite  fiats  !  The  eating  of 
the  tree  of  life  was  forbidden  yesterday ;  it  is 
to  be  made  allow^able  to-morrow !  Can  a 
thing  be  wrong  yesterday  and  right  to- 
morrow r  Yes,  if  the  change  in  the  day  has 
brought  a  change  in  me.  Many  a  fruit  is  bad 
for  a  child  which  is  good  for  a  man.  Why  r 
Because  the  man  has  overcome  something; 
he  has  a  better  constitution  than  the  child. 
I  do  not  think  my  Heavenly  Father  ever 
forbids  a  thing  merely  in  order  to  show  His 
power.  We  hear  a  great  deal  about  the 
sovereignty  of  God.     I  do  not  think  He  ever 


i66         Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

acts  from  the  motive  of  sovereignty.  If  He 
forbids  one  tree  out  of  seven  His  aim  is  not 
regal,  but  sanitary.  The  sanitary  condition 
of  a  place  may  change  in  a  year ;  fish  may 
live  in  a  river  where  they  used  to  die. 
Prohibition  diminishes  with  moral  sanitation. 
It  is  quite  right  to  ask,  with  a  certain  school, 
"  What  would  Jesus  do  ? "  but  I  have  no  right 
to  base  it  upon  "  What  did  Jesus  do  ? "  God 
forbids  the  tree  of  life  to  the  first  man  ;  am  I 
to  follow  in  his  step  of  prohibition  ?  No,  for 
God  Himself  has  reversed  that  step  for  the 
coining  man.  He  has  forbidden  us  to  take 
His  prohibition  as  a  model.  The  tree  pro- 
scribed today  may  be  allowed  to-morrow. 
The  gate  shut  to-day  may  be  open  to-morrow. 
The  fruit  denied  to-day  may  be  lavished 
to-morrow.  He  who  reaches  moral  health 
shall  dispense  with  the  restrictions  imposed 
on  the  Paradise  of  God. 

Jesus,  it  is  the  steps  of  Thy  Spirit  I  am  to 
follow  !  It  may  be  that  I  can  serve  Thee  best 
to-day  by  following  the  opposite  route  to  that 
of  Thy  disciples.  They  had  to  give  up  the 
world  ;  the  surrender  of  the  world  was  their 
burden.     But    it    would    no    longer    be    my 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.         167 

burden,  O  Lord !  My  temptation  is  to  get 
away  from  the  tree  of  daily  life — to  escape  its 
duties,  to  ignore  its  responsibilities.  When 
Thou  sayest  to  me  and  to  Thy  first  disciples, 
"  Take  up  My  Cross  !  "  both  I  and  they  are 
bound  to  obey  Thee.  But  my  obedience  will 
be  the  opposite  of  theirs.  Their  cross  was  the 
giving  up  of  the  tree ;  my  cross  is  the 
climbing  of  the  tree,  the  eating  of  the  tree. 
It  is  the  same  spirit,  but  new  steps.  Thou  art 
calling  me  to  a  larger  contact  with  the  world's 
tree ;  but  it  is  not  that  I  may  get  less  of  Thy 
Cross,  it  is  that  I  may  get  more.  The  tree  of 
earthly  life  has  ceased  to  be  bad  for  me 
because  it  has  ceased  to  be  selfish.  It  has 
become  my  cross — to  be  borne  for  Thee,  my 
weight — to  be  worn  for  Thee,  my  care — to  be 
carried  for  Thee.  Thou  hast  lifted  the 
restrictions  to  my  service.  Thou  hast  enlarged 
the  limits  to  my  burden.  Thou  hast  extended 
the  sphere  of  my  sacrifice.  Thou  hast  given 
me  more  room  to  de7iy  myself,  more  space  to 
spend  myself,  more  field  to  forget  myself. 
Only  to  my  love  hast  Thou  opened  the  earthly 
gates ;  my  right  to  the  world's  tree  is  my 
power  for  the  world's  cross. 


THE  UNWRITTEN  GOSPEL  OF  JESUS. 

"And  there  are  also  many  other  things  which  Jesus  did,  the 
which,  if  they  should  be  written  every  one,  I  suppose  that  even 
the  world  itself  could  not  contain  the  books." — Tqhn  xxi.  25. 

And  so  the  Bible  is  not  limited  to  our 
books  !  The  greater  part  of  the  Divine  Word 
has  never  come  down  to  us,  has  never  been 
put  in  writing!  To  what  purpose  is  this 
waste!  I  can  overlook  such  things  in  Nature. 
I  have  become  accustomed  to  be  told  that 
most  of  her  rays  do  not  reach  my  eye,  and 
that  "  of  a  thousand  seeds  she  often  brings 
but  one  to  bear."  But  I  expected  something 
better  from  the  Word  of  God  ;  has  God  not 
said  that  not  one  word  of  His  should  fall 
ineffectual !  Yes,  my  brother ;  but  where  is 
there  any  talk  about  the  ineffectual  here! 
There  are  words  of  Jesus  which  never  were 
written ;    does  it  follow  that   their   influence 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.  169 

was  never  transmitted !  Thousands  heard 
them;  thousands  wrote  them  in  their  hearts; 
thousands  were  redeemed  by  them ;  thousands 
that  perhaps  had  never  heard  any  other  word 
of  Jesus  have  handed  down  an  influence 
received  from  these !  Influences  live  when 
their  origin  is  forgotten.  You  have  perhaps 
lost  the  memory  of  your  mother ;  but  all  the 
same,  she  started  your  spiritual  life,  and  you 
keep  the  bias  still.  Believe  me,  strange  as  it 
may  sound,  there  are  thousands  of  Christians 
in  the  world  to-day  who  owe  their  inheritance 
to  the  Lost  Gospel  of  Jesus  ! 

I  thank  Thee,  O  Lord,  for  the  record  that 
tells  me  of  things  unrecorded ;  it  tells  me  I 
must  not  limit  the  channels  of  Thy  revela- 
tion. Thou  hast,  even  yet,  more  channels 
than  I  know.  There  are  deeds  of  Thine, 
there  are  words  of  Thine,  which  were  unseen 
by  the  eye.  The  world  would  not  hold  the 
books  of  unrecorded  Christian  experience. 
Thou  hast  still,  with  many  souls,  silent 
channels  of  communion — channels  where  no 
ships  are  seen  to  sail.  I  see  good  men 
around  me  who  do  not  repair  to  Thy  visible 
fountain.     I  should  marvel  at  their  goodness 


I70        Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

did  I  not  know  that  Thou  hast  an  mvisible 
fountain.  Many  are  bathing  there — bathing 
unconsciously.  I  have  seen  them  come  up 
refreshed,  shining.  I  have  said,  "  Who  are 
these  clothed  in  white  raiment,  and  whence 
come  they  ? — I  have  not  observed  them  at 
the  ordinary  waters."  And  Thine  angel  has 
answered  me,  saying,  "  These  are  they  who 
have  been  taught  the  things  not  written  in 
the  books.  They  found  a  barrier  in  their 
mind  which  blocked  their  way  to  the  common 
fountain.  They  could  not  get  near  it;  yet 
their  hearts  were  thirsting  for  the  waters. 
And  the  Lord  has  given  them  drink  by  a 
secret  way — a  way  which  they  themselves 
know  not — by  the  spray  which  is  ever  spark- 
ing from  the  ocean  of  His  love.  Therefore 
it  is  that  their  faces  shine  so  bright,  that 
their  eyes  wear  so  unlikely  a  gleam.  They 
are  the  children  of  the  Unwritten  Gospel. 
You  have  not  met  them  at  the  fountain;  yet 
they  have  washed  their  robes  in  the  blood 
of  the  Lamb." 


THE  OLD  AND  THE  NEW 
CONTRASTED. 

"  Blessed  is  the  man  that  walketh  not  in  the  counsel  of  the 
ungodly,  nor  standeth  in  the  way  of  sinners," — PsALM  I.  I. 
•'  Blessed  are  the  poor  in  spirit." — Matthew  v.  3. 

Two  voices  speak  here — the  old  covenant 
and  the  new.  Two  mountains  are  before  us — 
Sinai  and  Hermon.  Two  psalmists  are  before 
us — the  man  of  Israel  and  the  universal  Man. 
Two  blessings  are  before  us — the  blessing 
which  belonged  to  the  Jew  and  the  blessing 
which  belonged  to  the  Christian.  And  in 
these  blessings  there  is  yet  another  contrast. 
The  man  on  Mount  Sinai  says,  *^  Blessed  is 
he  that  walketh  not  in  the  counsel  of  the 
ungodly "  ;  the  Divine  Man  says,  "  Blessed 
are  the  poor  in  spirit."  I  should  have  imagined 
the  objects  of  blessing  to  have  been  reversed. 
Christ  seems  to  take  the  humbler  tone.      The 


1/2         Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

Psalmist  of  Israel  says,  "  Blessed  is  the  man 
who  lives  a  perfect  life";  Jesus  says,  *' Blessed 
is  the  man  who  feels  he  cannot  live  a  perfect 
life/'  Why  does  Jesus  require  less  than  does 
the  representative  of  David  ?  The  Old  Testa- 
ment insists  on  a  man  aiming  at  perfection ; 
why  should  the  New  be  satisfied  if  one  can 
say,  "  I  am  a  poor  creature  "  ? 

Because,  my  soul,  that  means  for  thee  a 
higher  altitude  and  a  height  more  hard  to 
gain.  It  is  very  easy  in  the  moral  world  to 
think  thyself  at  the  top  of  the  hill.  It  is  only 
as  thou  climbest  that  the  height  of  the  hill 
appears.  It  is  not  the  spiritually  poor  who 
are  the  poor  in  spirit.  The  spiritually  poor 
are  always  those  who  think  that  they  "  walk 
not  in  the  counsel  of  the  ungodly."  If  thou 
hast  lived  all  thy  life  in  a  village  and  hast 
never  heard  the  waves  of  the  human  sea,  thou 
art  bound  to  be  self-sufficient.  Thy  stream 
will  be  an  ocean,  thy  rustic  school  an  academy, 
thy  rural  influence  an  empire.  So  is  it  with 
the  life  of  thy  spirit.  Not  in  thy  childhood 
art  thou  humble,  O  my  soul ;  it  is  contact 
with  the  man  that  makes  thee  humble.  I 
think  the  humblest  child  that  ever  lived  must 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.  173 

have  been  that  child  taken  up  into  the  arms 
of  Jesus  ;  it  saw  its  extreme  opposite.  That 
child  would  be  poor  in  spirit  ever  after.  It 
would  be  the  least  boastful  of  the  ring  of 
schoolboys,  the  least  assertive  of  the  family 
band.  Even  so,  if  thou  wouldst  be  humble, 
must  it  be  with  thee.  Thou  must  see  Jesus, 
must  be  lifted  into  the  arms  of  Jesus.  Only 
in  His  arms  shalt  thou  feel  thine  own  nothing- 
ness ;  only  in  His  presence  shalt  thou  realise 
thy  poverty.  Wouldst  thou  be  humble — 
climb  !  Wouldst  thou  be  diffident — soar ! 
Wouldst  thou  be  modest — rise  on  the  wing  ! 
Wouldst  thou  beat  upon  thy  breast  and  say 
"  Unclean !  " — get  on  the  mount  with  Jesus  ! 
Wouldst  thou  sink  in  thine  own  opinion  of 
thy  greatness — watch  His  footsteps  on  the 
sea !  Wouldst  thou  learn  the  meekness  of  the 
dove — in  the  baptismal  waters  let  thy  spirit 
light  on  Him  I 


THE    STAGES    OF    CHRISTIAN 
COMMUNION. 

"  Have  mercy  upon  me,  O  God."— Psalm  li.  i. 
"That  I  may  know  the  fellowship  with  His  sufferings." — 
Philippians  III.  ICX 

Here  are  two  degrees  of  Divine  commu- 
nion, its  spring  and  its  summer.  The  first  is 
God's  compassion  for  me  ;  the  second  is  my 
compassion  for  God.  "  Have  mercy  upon 
mey*  says  the  Psalmist  ;  "  Give  me  fellow- 
ship with  Thy  pain,'*  says  Paul.  And  ever 
is  this  the  sequence  of  the  soul's  approach  to 
God.  I  begin  by  asking  His  fellowship  with 
me.  It  is  the  cry  of  my  springtime.  I  have 
been  quickened  into  pain  by  the  new  life 
within  me,  and  I  cry  for  an  anaesthetic.  I 
have  been  taught  my  weakness  by  the 
moment  of  convalescence,  and  I  cry  for 
a  stimulant.     The  voice  of  my  spirit  in  the 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.         175 

springtime  is  ever  the  prayer  that  God  will 
take  my  cross.  But  by -and -by  summer 
comes,  and  the  scene  is  changed.  My  spirit 
takes  a  leap,  a  bound.  I  pass  from  my  cross 
to  God's  cross.  I  have  often  wondered  why 
Paul  said,  "  that  I  may  know  the  fellowship 
with  His  sufferings  "  instead  of  "  His  fellow- 
ship with  my  sufferings."  But  I  do  not  won- 
der any  more.  I  have  learned  the  difference 
between  spring  and  summer.  Do  you  not 
see  it  even  in  the  life  of  home !  That  little 
girl  is  laying  all  her  crosses  upon  the  mother; 
she  would  be  miserable  if  the  mother  did  not 
bear  them.  But,  one  day,  she  will  be  miser- 
able if  the  mother  does  bear  them.  One  day, 
she  will  want  to  lift  the  mother  s  cross.  One 
day,  her  deepest  desire  will  be  to  have  fellow- 
ship with  the  parent's  sufferings,  to  help  her 
burden  up  the  Dolorous  Way.  And,  when 
that  day  comes,  it  will  be,  both  for  mother 
and  child,  the  leafy  month  of  June. 

Jesus,  I  have  been  admitted  to  Thy  higher 
class  of  communicants  !  I  stood,  one  day, 
upon  an  eminence  of  the  great  city,  and 
looked  down.  I  looked  upon  its  sins  and 
sorrows.      I   saw    the   squalor     beneath    the 


176         Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

glory,  the  rags  below  the  costly  raiment.  I 
beheld  the  struggle  for  survival,  the  weariness 
of  life,  the  recklessness  that  breeds  crime ; 
and  as  I  beheld,  I  wept.  And  then  I  knew 
that  I  was  bearing  Thy  cross.  Then  I 
knew  that  I  was  lifting  that  old,  old  burden 
of  Thine — the  burden  of  Jerusalem  that  made 
Thee  weep.  That  moment  I  gained  promo- 
tion ;  I  passed  to  the  upper  form.  Hitherto, 
it  had  been  all  receiving ;  I  had  never  given 
Thee  a  joy;  I  had  been  the  child  bringing 
its  cross  to  the  mother.  But  now  there  are 
to  be  changed  times  for  me,  for  Thee.  Tell 
me  the  secret  of  Thy  pain  ;  tell  me  the  story 
of  Thy  grief!  I  used  only  to  sing,  "  Safe  in 
the  arms  of  Jesus  "  ;  it  is  no  more  for  me  an 
adequate  song.  I  cannot  sleep  if  Thou  art 
suffering  in  the  Garden.  Rather  would  I 
have  my  arms  round  Thee  in  the  fellowship 
of  pain  !  My  springtime  brought  rest  to  the 
labour  of  my  heart ;  but  my  summer  glory 
will  be  when  my  heart  shall  enter  into  Thy 
labour. 


SELF-REFLECTION. 

•♦The  life  was  the  light  of  men."— John  I.  4. 

It  is  only  in  man  that  life  becomes  Light 
— conscious  of  itself.  Every  creature  has 
something  which  it  recognises ;  but  man 
alone  recognises  life.  Everything  else  looks 
outside.  The  bee  fixes  its  eye  on  the  flower ; 
the  bird  directs  its  gaze  to  the  plumage  of  its 
mate.  But  man  turns  the  lantern  inside  and 
surveys  his  own  dwelling.  I  am  the  only 
creature  upon  earth  that  has  ever  seen  the 
house  in  which  it  lives.  Bird  and  beast  look 
out  of  the  window ;  /  have  the  power  to  turn 
my  back  to  the  window  and  examine  the 
room.  It  is  not  that  my  house  is  more 
wonderful  than  the  other  houses.  I  have 
always  felt  that  instinct  is  more  marvellous 
than  reason.  The  house  of  the  bee  ought 
to  excite  its  wonder  as  much  as  my   house 


178        Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

excites  mine.  The  defect  does  not  lie  in 
the  house,  but  in  the  tenant.  The  bee  has 
a  mirror  as  well  as  I ;  I  see  not  how,  other- 
wise, it  could  make  its  cells.  But  the  mirror 
in  the  bee's  dwelling  has  a  covering  over  it ; 
it  is  a  piece  of  furniture  hid  from  the  eye  of 
its  possessor.  My  peculiarity  is  that  I  have 
lifted  the  covering.  I  have  discovered  that 
there  ts  a  piece  of  furniture  called  a  mirror. 
I  do  not  know  where  the  mirror  came  from 
any  more  than  the  bee  does  ;  I  do  not  even 
know  that  it  is  made  of  different  glass  from 
that  of  the  bee.  But  I  do  know  that,  first 
among  the  denizens  of  earth,  I  have  seen  my 
own  reflection,  and  that  to  me — a  product 
of  the  eleventh  hour,  life  has  become  Light. 

I  thank  Thee,  O  Lord,  for  the  gift  of  self- 
reflection.  I  thank  Thee  that  on  creation's 
sixth  morning  there  was  revealed  a  looking- 
glass.  That  looking-glass  is  Thy  most  solemn 
gift  to  me.  It  is  more  solemn  than  sight, 
more  solemn  than  hearing,  more  solemn  than 
the  power  of  motion.  In  that  glass  I  see 
what  Jacob  saw — a  man  that  wrestled  with 
me  till  the  breaking  of  the  day.  I  am  never 
so  shrunk  in  sinew  as  when  I  have  gazed  into 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.         179 

my  looking-glass ;  the  mirror  of  conscience 
makes  me  halt  upon  my  thigh.  Often  I 
regret  that  this  gift  is  mine;  conscience 
makes  a  coward  of  me.  I  would  fain  get 
back  the  covered  mirror  of  the  bee.  I  long 
for  the  lark's  mindless  carol,  for  the  nightin- 
gale's careless  song.  I  sometimes  try  to 
break  my  mirror  in  the  franticness  to  get  free. 
Do  not  let  me  break  it,  O  Lord !  Forbid  that 
other  man  to  let  me  go !  Tell  him  to  haunt 
me  with  his  presence !  In  every  un-Christly 
deed  let  me  see  myself!  In  every  unholy 
thought  let  me  confront  myself!  In  every 
unkind  word  let  me  reflect  myself!  When 
I  do  a  mean  thing,  show  me  that  other  man  I 
When  I  slander  in  secret  and  have  no  fear 
of  detection,  show  me  that  other  man !  When 
the  night  has  hid  my  sin,  show  me  that  other 
man  !  Bid  him  wrestle  till  my  pride  is  lamed  ; 
bid  him  struggle  till  my  strength  is  tamed; 
bid  him  hold  me  till  my  heart  is  shamed! 
Whatever  other  furniture  I  lose,  may  I  never 
consent  to  part  with  the  mirror  in  my  soul ! 


N  3 


THE   VICARIOUS    POWER    OF    LOVE. 

"Times  of  refreshing  from  the  presence  of  the  Lord."— 
Acts  hi.  19. 

The  important  word  here  is  one  which  I 
think  has  escaped  the  commentators  ;  it  is 
the  little  word  "  from.'*  What  the  writer 
wants  is  not  merely  a  refreshing  sense  of 
Christ's  presence  ;  it  is  that  Christ's  presence 
may  be  a  centre  of  radiation — may  refresh 
unrefreshing  things.  What  the  writer  desires 
is  the  imparting  of  a  vicarious  glory  to  things 
not  naturally  glorious.  Do  you  know  any- 
thing which  can  do  that  ?  Do  you  know  any- 
thing that  can  impute  its  own  righteousness 
to  everything  else  ?  I  know  of  only  one  such 
influence  ;  it  is  the  power  of  a  loved  presence. 
Love  has  not  only  a  beauty  of  its  own,  but  a 
power  of  beautifying  other  objects,  of  refresh- 
ing unrefreshing  things.     Love  imputes  to  all 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.  i8i 

things  its  own  righteousness.  When  I  am 
refreshed  by  the  sense  that  a  loved  presence 
is  near,  the  world  is  refreshed  along  with  me. 
Nature  and  I  sing  together.  Not  only  her 
great  things  sing ;  her  meanest  products  are 
glorified.  The  mosses,  the  lichens,  the 
grasses,  the  common  turf  beneath  my  feet, 
are  afire  and  ablaze  with  thoughts  unspeak- 
able. With  a  loved  presence  by  my  side  the 
long  way  is  made  short,  the  muddy  way  is 
made  clean.  Yesterday  I  walked  alone  along 
the  road  and  found  it  interminable ;  to-day  a 
presence  is  by  my  side  and  the  journey  is  too 
brief.  Yesterday  I  grumbled  at  the  drench- 
ing rain  ;  to-day  it  is  pouring  faster,  but  I  am 
going  to  the  presence  of  the  loved,  and  I  say, 
"  It  is  but  a  little  shower." 

Jesus,  Lover  of  m.y  soul,  I  ask  of  Thee  more 
than  Thy  hymnist  asked.  It  is  not  enough 
for  me  to  fly  to  Thy  bosom — to  hide  there 
from  the  rolling  waters.  I  should  like  the 
rolling  waters  to  be  made  musical  by  Thy 
presence.  It  is  not  enough  that  I  should 
nestle  close  to  Thy  beauty.  I  should  like 
Thy  beauty  to  radiate  to  the  things  around 
me.     I    often    ask    the    imputation    of   Thy 


i82        Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

righteousness  to  myself;  and  it  is  well.  But 
I  want  more  than  that  from  Thee,  my  Christ. 
I  want  Thy  righteousness  imputed  to  many 
things  from  which  I  flee — to  all  but  sin.  I 
want  my  love  for  Thee  to  glorify  my  world. 
May  Thy  presence  brighten  my  environment ! 
Send  me  love's  vicarious  joy !  Let  my  glad- 
ness concerning  Thee  put  me  in  spirits  all 
round !  From  Thy  presence  may  all  presences 
be  refreshed  !  Give  the  sun  a  new  lustre,  the 
stars  a  new  glitter,  the  flowers  a  new  glow ! 
Light  the  prosaic  days,  the  common  ways  ! 
Illuminate  the  household  drudgery ;  gild  the 
daily  toil !  Through  every  act  of  mine  may 
Thy  love-song  be  ringing !  Through  every 
sight  of  mine  may  Thy  presence  be  winging  ! 
Through  every  walk  of  mine  may  Thy  foun- 
tain be  springing !  Through  every  night  of 
mine  may  Thy  dear  voice  be  singing !  So 
shall  I  be  refreshed  "  from  the  presence  of  the 
Lord." 


ASPIRATION. 

"In  vain  the  net  is  spread  in  the  sight  of  any  bird."— Pro- 
verbs I.  17. 

The  common  interpretation  is,  "  Even  the 
bird  is  wiser  than  you  ;  you  fall  into  a  net  of 
temptation  which  the  bird  avoids."  I  do  not 
think  this  is  the  idea.  I  take  the  passage  to 
be  a  poetic  metaphor.  I  understand  it  to 
mean,  "You  will  never  avoid  the  perils  of  the 
net  until  you  adopt  the  method  of  the  bird." 
What  is  that  method  r  It  is  flight— flight  not 
from  the  net,  but  above  the  net.  Why  does 
the  bird  in  its  progress  not  try  to  pass  through 
the  net  r  Because  it  has  another  road  open  to 
it — a  road  through  the  upper  air.  If  it  had 
only  one  road  it  might  be  tempted  to  try  the 
net.  But  it  is  independent  of  the  spot  where 
the  net  lies  ;  it  can  travel  by  a  more  excellent 
way.       The    only    cure     for     temptation     is 


1 84        Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

aspiration.  You  cannot  avoid  the  net  by 
running  away  from  it.  The  net  is  really  in 
your  heart  and  runs  along  with  you.  You 
can  only  avoid  it  by  the  wing — by  soaring  to 
something  better.  Are  you  covetous  of 
earthly  riches  ?  You  won't  escape  by  shutting 
the  door  of  the  treasury.  You  will  only 
escape  by  the  sight  of  a  larger  treasury — the 
unsearchable  riches  of  Christ.  Would  you 
be  free  from  the  lust  of  the  flesh ;  then  must 
you  fly  on  the  wings  of  the  spirit.  To  be 
unhurt  on  earth  you  must  be  a  bird  ot 
Paradise. 

Rise  on  the  wing,  O  my  soul,  and  in  vain 
the  net  shall  be  spread  for  thee  !  Rise  on 
the  wing,  and  thou  shalt  be  above  the  miry 
clay !  Thou  shalt  not  be  above  it  by  shutting 
thyself  in  a  cellar.  What  makes  thee  impure 
is  the  thought  of  the  clay.  Thou  canst  be  a 
pauper  and  yet  a  miser,  a  profligate  and  yet 
an  ascetic,  a  worldling  and  yet  a  recluse. 
Thou  canst  be  a  prodigal  where  there  are  no 
swine,  a  Judas  where  there  is  no  bag  from 
which  to  steal.  Thou  fleest  not  from  the 
world  by  leaving  the  street.  The  world  is  not 
in  the  street ;  it  is  in  thy   study — the  place 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.  185 

where  thou  thinkest.  It  is  thy  spirit  that 
must  have  wings.  Nothing  but  a  noble  love 
can  save  thee  from  an  ignoble  love — not  law, 
not  prison,  not  stripes,  not  sight  of  hell — only 
the  sight  of  beauty,  only  Christ.  It  is  not 
rest  thou  requirest ;  it  is  wing.  It  is  not 
abstinence  thou  needest ;  it  is  a  higher  luxury. 
It  is  not  privation  thou  lackest ;  it  is  a  nobler 
self-indulgence.  Not  the  weaning  but  the 
winging  of  thy  spirit  is  thy  God's  goal  for 
thee.  Begin  with  the  wing!  Do  not  begin 
with  little  improvements  !  Do  not  start  with 
the  provinces  !  Come  at  once  to  the  metro- 
polis ;  rise,  at  a  bound,  to  Christ !  And  His 
beauty  will  keep  thee  pure ;  His  image  will 
keep  thee  holy  ;  His  loveliness  will  keep  thee 
aloft  upon  the  mount  of  virtue.  In  vain  the 
net  is  spread  for  the  soul  on  wing  to  Jesus  ! 


GOD'S  REST  AND  GOD'S  WORK. 

'*The  Lord  rested  the  seventh  day."— Exodus  XX.  ii. 
**Jesus  answered,  My  Father  worketk  hitherto." — John  v. 
17. 

Does  our  Lord  mean  to  contradict  the 
statement  of  the  book  of  Exodus  ?  Exodus 
says  God  "  rested  the  seventh  day ; "  Christ 
says,  "  Up  to  this  present  time  My  Father  has 
never  ceased  from  labour."  Does  Jesus  mean 
to  deny  the  primitive  record?  No.  What  He 
means  is  that  rest  is  not  the  opposite  of  work, 
but  the  opposite  of  friction.  And  I  think  our 
experience  must  confirm  this.  Is  it  not  true 
even  of  physical  rest.  It  is  not  motion  that 
tries  us  ;  it  is  the  interference  with  motion. 
It  is  not  work  that  makes  us  weary ;  it  is  the 
impeding  of  work.  If  there  were  no  friction  in 
the  air  or  in  surrounding  objects,  you  and  I 
would  find  in  the  longest  and  swiftest  locomo- 
tion a  sense  of  absolute  rest.     Why  does  a 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.  187 

little  bird  grow  weary  on  the  wing  ?  Because 
of  motion  ?  No ;  because  of  motion  inter- 
rupted. It  is  because  all  things  are  calling  to 
the  bird,  "  Lie  down  ! "  It  is  because  the 
pressure  of  the  atmosphere  is  every  moment 
stopping  its  progress,  and  saying  '*  You  shall 
not  pass  here !  "  If  the  bird  had  less  friction, 
it  would  do  more  work  and  at  the  same  time 
find  more  rest.  When  God  rested,  He  rested 
not  from  work,  but  from  the  friction  that 
impeded  work.  Are  you  startled  that  the 
working  of  God  should  have  been  impeded  by 
friction  !  I  am  quite  sure  it  was,  till  the  birth 
of  a  human  soul.  Do  you  think  that  the 
selfish  struggle  for  survival  among  the  beasts 
of  the  field  was  favourable  to  the  movement  of 
His  love  !  No  ;  it  restrained  the  beating  of 
His  wings.  It  was  not  the  environment  for 
your  Father.  It  was  a  foreign  atmosphere  in 
His  own  world.  It  broke  the  nuptial  ring, 
wherewith  He  sought  to  surround  all  things. 
Lord,  it  is  Thy  rest  in  man  that  has  ac- 
celerated Thy  work.  The  movement  of  Thy 
Spirit  is  faster  than  of  yore.  There  are  fewer 
obstacles  on  the  line — love's  line.  The  fric- 
tion has  been  lifted  from  Thy  path.     Thy  rest 


i88         Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

is  not  rest  from  Thy  flight,  but  rest  in  Thy 
flight.  The  Sabbath  broke  not  Thy  wing,  but 
the  impediments  to  Thy  wing.  The  day  of 
Thy  rest  has  been  a  day  of  new  travel.  Thy 
message  has  flashed  quicker  since  the  birth  of 
man.  The  swiftest  of  all  telegraphs  has  been 
raised  by  the  rest  which  my  heart  has  given 
to  Thine — the  telegraph  of  prayer.  Between 
these  points  of  peace — my  heart  and  Thy 
heart — there  is  established  a  rapid  communion. 
It  is  quicker  than  the  wings  of  an  eagle, 
quicker  than  the  sweep  of  the  wind,  quicker 
than  the  words  of  a  man,  quicker  than  the 
thought  of  a  soul,  quicker  than  the  feelings  of 
a  heart,  quicker  than  the  aspirings  of  a  spirit. 
I  have  no  time-measure  which  can  express  the 
rapidness  of  Thy  response  to  prayer.  And  it 
is  a  rapidness  born  of  rest,  a  swiftness 
wrought  by  sympathy,  a  flight  made  fleeter 
because  friction  dies.  Thy  Sabbath  morning 
is  Thy  working-day. 


GOD'S     FIRST    ATTITUDE    TOWARDS 

MAN. 

"I  will  not  blot  out  his  name  out  of  the  book  of  life."— 
Revelation  hi.  5. 

And  so  our  names  are  in  the  book  of  life 
already  !  "  I  will  not  blot  ^z^/"— this  implies 
that  our  names  are  now  in.  And  truly  it  is 
so.  God  begins  by  assuming  that  we  are 
sons.  He  writes  our  names  in  His  birthday- 
book  before  we  have  a  character  good  or  bad. 
Before  the  younger  brother  in  Christ's  para- 
ble became  a  prodigal  he  asked  and  received 
a  portion  from  his  father.  His  father  did  not 
say,  "  I  will  wait  to  see  whether  you  are  fit 
for  it."  No ;  he  gave  it  to  him  in  advance — 
previous  to  his  moral  trial.  There  is  a 
thought  entertained  by  some  people  which  to 
me  is  awful— that  we  are  put  into  this  world 
as  candidates  for  God's  love.     That  would  be 


iQo        Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

to  start  life  in  absolute  darkness  ;  the  morn- 
ing hour  would  be  my  rayless  hour.  Waiting 
to  be  enrolled  in  the  birthday-book  of  my 
Father!  waiting  at  the  door  till  I  can  prove 
my  right  to  enter !  waiting  in  the  outer  hall 
till  I  can  establish  my  claim  of  ancestry  1 — it 
is  a  deadening,  a  ghastly  thing !  I  refuse  to 
start  life  with  my  Father's  love  an  open 
question.  I  refuse  to  be  a  candidate  for  my 
rightful  place  in  the  birthday-book.  I  refuse 
to  win  by  struggle  my  claim  to  the  heart  of 
Jesus. 

O  Christ,  I  was  born  in  Thy  dwelling ;  my 
name  was  written  in  childhood  in  the  birth- 
day-book with  Thee  !  Not  rayless  was  my 
childhood — not  curtained  from  Thy  love.  I 
have  never  been  a  probationer,  never  been  a 
candidate  for  Thy  heart.  I  have  never  felt 
that  I  must  win  something  if  I  would  win 
Thee.  Such  a  thought  would  paralyse  me  on 
the  threshold.  Only  by  the  previous  sense 
of  Thy  love  can  I  win  anything.  It  is  my 
name  in  the  birthday-book  that  inspires  me. 
I  could  not  fight  on  the  chalice  of  being  made 
Thy  soldier  ;  I  could  only  fight  because  I  am 
enlisted  already.     It  is  by  the  light  of  Thy 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.  191 

heaven  that  I  take  my  journey  on  earth.  It 
is  by  Thy  star  of  Bethlehem  that  I  climb  the 
mount  of  Beatitudes.  It  is  by  Thy  smile  of 
dove-like  peace  that  I  meet  the  temptations 
of  the  wilderness.  It  is  by  Thy  fellowship  in 
the  upper  room  that  I  lift  with  Thee  the 
cross.  I  need  Thee  "  previous  to  all  things." 
Thou  must  be  my  morning — not  alone  my 
afternoon,  my  effort — not  alone  my  reward, 
my  guide  —  not  alone  my  goal.  Only  the 
lamp  of  Thy  love  can  lead  me  to  my  labours, 
I  shall  never  breast  the  battle  till  I  see  my 
name  on  Thy  muster-roll. 


IN    THE    LIGHT    OF    ETERNITY. 

"  In  Thy  light  shall  we  see  light." — Psalm  xxxvi.  9. 
**The  Lamb  is  the  light  thereof." — Revelation  xxi.  23. 

Nothing  is  seen  in  its  own  light — not  even 
a  visible  thing.  A  landscape  is  not  seen  in 
its  own  light;  it  is  perceived  very  much  in 
the  light  of  yesterday.  How  little  of  what 
you  see  is  mere  perception !  Every  sight  ot 
nature  is  tinged  with  the  light  of  memory. 
The  poet  looks  from  the  bridge  at  midnight 
upon  the  rushing  waters  ;  but  what  he  sees 
is  not  the  flowing  tide  ;  it  is  a  tide  of  7nemo7y 
which  fills  his  eyes  with  tears.  You  listen 
to  the  babbling  of  the  brook ;  but  what  you 
hear  is  not  the  babbling,  it  is  the  utterance 
of  a  dear  name.  You  visit  Rome,  you  visit 
Jerusalem,  you  visit  Greece ;  do  you  see  any 
of  these  by  its  own  light }  No  ;  they  are  all 
beheld  by  the  light  of  yesterday ;  there  is  their 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.         193 

glory,  there  lies  their  gold !  "  Even  so," 
cries  the  Psalmist,  "  it  is  with  this  world  ;  ii 
you  want  to  see  it,  you  must  look  at  it  by 
the  light  of  another  world  —God's  coming 
world."  He  does  not  mean  that  when  we 
quit  the  scenes  of  earth  we  shall  have  bright 
light  in  heaven.  It  is  more  than  that.  It  is 
for  the  scenes  of  earth  he  wants  the  heavenly 
light.  He  says  you  cannot  interpret  your 
own  skies  without  it.  We  often  say  that  in 
the  light  of  eternity  earthly  objects  will  fade 
from  our  sight.  But  the  Psalmist  says  that 
until  we  get  the  light  of  eternity  earthly  ob- 
jects will  never  be  in  our  sight.  It  is  by  the 
light  of  the  Celestial  City  —  the  City  which 
has  no  need  of  the  sun— that  alone  we  can 
tell  what  here  is  large  and  what  here  is 
small. 

Thou  Lamb,  slain  from  the  foundation  ot 
the  world.  Thou  art  the  Light  thereof!  When 
God  said,  "  Let  us  make  man  ! "  He  meant 
not  Adam,  but  Thee.  Thou  art  the  plan  of 
the  great  building  ;  to  Thee  all  things  move. 
By  no  other  light  can  I  understand  the  strug- 
gles of  this  earth.  Not  by  Nature's  light  can 
I  understand  them ;  I  have  seen  the  physical 


194        Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

sunshine  sparkle  on  my  pain,  and  I  thought 
it  a  cruel  thing.  Not  by  philosophy's  light 
can  I  understand  them ;  I  have  seen  the  great 
thinker  impeded  by  poverty,  and  I  thought  it 
an  unseemly  thing.  Not  in  beauty's  light 
can  I  understand  them ;  I  have  seen  the  artist 
lose  his  eyesight,  and  I  thought  it  an  un- 
righteous thing.  But  if  the  world  is  being 
woven  for  Thee^  I  understand.  If  Thy  type 
of  sacrifice  is  the  plan  of  the  Architect,  I  un- 
derstand. If  Thy  cross  is  Creation's  crown, 
I  understand.  If  the  Celestial  City  is  a  home 
for  hospital  training,  I  understand.  If  Thine 
angels  are  all  ministering  spirits,  I  under- 
stand. If  the  purest  robe  is  not  the  white 
robe  but  the  robe  washed  white,  if  the  goal  of 
man  is  not  Eden  but  Gethsemane,  if  the  glory 
of  Thy  Father  is  the  sacrificial  blood  of  love, 
then  have  I  found  the  golden  key ;  in  Thy 
Light  I  have  seen  light  I 


EFFECT    OF    THE    INWARD    ON    THE 
OUTWARD. 

•*  When  thou  tillest  the  ground,  it  shall  not  henceforth  yield 
unto  thee  its  strength."— Genesis  iv.  12. 

The  words  were  spoken  to  Cain  after  he 
had  lost  his  joy.  What  connection  was  there 
between  his  sadness  and  the  soil's  barren- 
ness ?  It  is  not  said  that  the  soil  would 
become  barren.  The  words  are,  "It  shall 
not  yield  to  thee  its  strength."  That  really 
means,  "  You  shall  not  yield  your  strength 
to  ity  When  a  man  tails  in  spirits,  he 
declines  in  power  of  work.  The  soil  was 
exactly  what  it  was  before ;  but  Cain  was 
not  what  he  was  before.  The  work  which 
yesterday  was  easy  had  to-day  become  diffi- 
cult because  the  mind  of  the  worker  was 
oppressed  with  care.  The  deepest  changes 
in  outward  things  are  changes  in  us.     There 

o  2 


196        Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

is  no  such  thing  as  a  refreshment-room  in 
nature ;  there  are  not  certain  articles  which 
are  warranted  to  stimulate.  The  stimulative 
quality  of  nature's  articles  depends  on  the 
state  of  the  mind.  Many  a  physical  im- 
pression which  was  a  pleasure  yesterday 
becomes  a  pain  to-day.  Nobody  revels  more 
in  wood  and  field  than  the  happy  lover;  but 
the  lover  u7zh.a,pTpy  is  offended  by  that  which 
once  made  him  glad,  and  cries ; — 

**  Ye  banks  and  braes  o'  bonnie  Doon, 
How  can  ye  bloom  so  fresh  and  fair  ! " 

It  is  not  that  the  object  has  lost  its  beauty; 
it  is  the  beauty  itself  that  has  palled ;  less 
loveliness  would  be  more  pleasing.  The 
song  which  thrilled  me  in  life's  morning 
smites  me  in  life's  afternoon.  It  was  the 
heauty  that  thrilled ;  it  is  the  beauty  that 
smites.  That  which  makes  the  difference  is 
in  me  ;  I  have  exchanged  the  bowers  of  hope 
for  the  wastes  of  memory.  The  ancient  bird 
is  warbling  in  a  new  sky,  and  the  vanished 
sky  makes  me  sad. 

My  soul,  thy  rainbow  must  be  renewed 
from  within.  It  has  no  need  of  renewal  in 
the  heavens;  these  declare  the  glory  of  God 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.         197 

as  much  as  they  ever  did.  It  is  in  thee  that 
the  flood  has  come;  it  is  to  thee  that  the 
promise  must  be  given.  If  there  be  a  bright 
colour  in  thy  heart,  the  old  colours  in  the 
sky  may  remain.  Hast  thou  thought  of  that 
night  when  the  disciples  toiled  and  caught 
nothing.  After  long  hours  of  useless  labour, 
they  resolved  to  go  home.  Suddenly,  a  voice 
said,  "  Try  again ! "  It  was  the  voice  of 
Jesus.  Was  there  any  reason  they  should 
try  again  ?  Outwardly,  none.  It  was  the 
same  sea,  the  same  net,  the  same  boat ;  what 
made  the  difference  ?  A  new  colour  in  the 
heart — Jesus  was  there.  It  was  not  so  much 
because  Jesus  commanded  as  because  Jesus 
w^as  there;  it  was  His  presence  made  them 
win.  Hast  thou  failed  on  life's  sea;  try 
again — with  Jesus!  There  may  be  nothing 
else  to  bid  thee  try.  The  night  may  be  as 
dark,  the  waves  may  be  as  high,  the  boat 
may  be  as  frail ;  but  try  again — with  Jesus ! 
Try  by  a  new  light — an  inner  h'ght !  Try  by 
the  light  of  happiness ;  try  by  the  glimmer 
of  gladness ;  try  by  the  lamp  of  a  heart  at 
rest !  The  most  stormy  sea  may  be  glassy 
when  the  harpers  make  music  thereon. 


CHRIST'S  INFLUENCE  ON  GOVERN- 
MENT. 

"  Kings  shall  shut  their  mouths  at  Him  ;  for  that  which  had 
not  been  told  them  shall  they  see ;  and  that  which  they  had  not 
heard  shall  they  consider.  "—Isaiah  lii.  15. 

The  prophet  claims  for  the  coming  Christ 
a  distinct  originality — "  That  which  had  not 
been  told  them  shall  they  see."  He  says  the 
Christ  will  announce  an  idea  so  original  that 
kings  will  be  struck  speechless  with  astonish- 
ment. Nothing  shuts  the  mouths  of  the 
critics  like  originality;  it  presents  food  for 
deliberation.  But  why  is  it  kings  that  are 
to  be  struck  speechless;  why  not  philo- 
sophers ?  It  is  because  the  new  thing  in 
Christ's  religion  lies,  not  in  the  sphere  ot 
philosophy,  but  in  the  sphere  of  government. 
What  is  the  newest  thing  that  Christ  told  the 
world  ?     The    Trinity  ?     The  Brahman   knew 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.         199 

that.  The  Incarnation  ?  The  Greek  knew 
that.  The  need  of  sacrifice  ?  The  Jew  knew 
that.  The  Resurrection  ?  The  Parsee  knew 
that.  The  Day  of  Judgment  ?  The  Egyptian 
knew  that.  Did  Christ  say  anything  which 
these  nations  did  not  know  ?  Yes ;  and  it  was 
something  which  concerned  government. 
He  told  the  world's  potentates  that  in  the 
coming  days  the  greatest  king  would  be  the 
most  burdened  servant.  No  wonder  it  was 
sovereigns  that  shut  their  mouths !  It  was  of 
them  He  spoke  the  new  thing.  He  said  that 
the  king,  because  he  was  a  king,  would  be  the 
servant  of  all — not  because  he  was  deposed, 
not  because  he  was  subjugated,  not  because 
he  was  the  victim  of  a  revolution,  but 
precisely  because  he  sat  upon  a  pinnacle  ot 
power. 

Son  of  Man,  I  have  narrowed  too  much  the 
sphere  of  Thy  Cross  !  I  have  thought  of  it  as 
a  thing  merely  for  other  worlds.  A  hundred 
times  have  I  said  that  religion  should  be 
excluded  from  politics.  And  yet,  the  origin- 
ality of  Thy  religion  is  just  its  making  ot 
politics.  How  little  do  I  realise  that  the 
modem  type  of  kinghood  is  of  Thy  creation  ! 


200        Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

Why  is  it  that  the  proudest  boast  of  royalty 
is  to  carry  the  burdens  of  the  people  ?  It  is 
because  in  the  very  act  of  Thy  kinghood  Thou 
hast  borne  the  Cross.  I  thank  Thee,  I  praise 
Thee,  I  bless  Thee,  for  the  bloodless  revolution 
Thou  hast  made  in  the  thoughts  of  men  !  We 
have  not  taken  captive  our  kings,  to  reign  in 
their  stead ;  they  have  made  themselves  our 
captives.  They  have  waked  to  a  new  glory — 
Thy  glory.  They  have  seen  Thee  carrying 
the  world  on  Thy  breast,  and  claiming  the 
burden  by  reason  of  Thy  royalty.  They  have 
caught  the  sheen  of  Gethsemane,  the  glow  of 
Calvary.  They  have  seen  the  majesty  of  Thy 
ministry  to  man,  the  regalness  of  Thy 
redeeming  love,  the  crown  that  made  Thee 
.crucify  Thy  soul.  They  have  felt  through 
Thee  that  love  makes  debtors  of  us  all — that 
the  highest  has  to  pay,  that  the  greatest 
has  to  bear  the  load.  They  have  learned, 
they  are  learning  more  and  more,  that  on  the 
steps  of  Thy  Cross  is  reached  the  modern 
throne,  and  that  only  in  the  sacrifice  to  a 
nation's  good  can  they  wield  the  sceptre  ot 
the  King  of  Kings. 


THE  VEILING   OF    DIVINE 
AUTHORITY. 

"Thy  gentleness  hath  made  me  great."— 2  Samuel  xxil.  36. 

Gentleness  is  the  restraint  of  power.  I 
think  the  word  is  often  misapplied.  I  should 
never  dream  of  applying  it  to  that  which  is 
necessarily  soft  and  quiet.  Men  speak  of 
the  gentle  brook.  Where  does  its  gentleness 
lie  ?  There  is  no  reserve  of  power  in  a  brook. 
It  speaks  quietly,  yet  it  speaks  as  loud  as  it 
can.  It  gives  out  as  much  as  is  in  it  to  give. 
I  should  never  use  the  term  to  describe  any- 
thing which  is  quiet  from  weakness.  Nature 
in  her  summer  moods  is  entitled  to  the  name 
of  "  gentle " ;  we  feel  she  is  holding  back 
something.  Why  do  we  call  a  soft  breeze 
"  gentle "  ?  Not  from  what  it  reveals,  but 
precisely  from  what  it  does  not  reveal — the 
possibility  of  the  hurricane.     Whatever  force 


202        Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

at  any  moment  declines  to  exert  its  full  power 
is  entitled  for  that  moment  to  the  name 
"  gentle/'  The  Bible  says  God  does  not 
exert  His  full  power.  It  says  that  if  He  did 
there  would  be  no  room  for  you  and  me. 
If  He  put  forth  His  omnipotent  will  there 
would  be  no  space  for  my  will ;  I  should 
then  be  a  piece  of  mechanism.  It  is  His 
gentleness  that  makes  me  great.  He  refuses 
to  occupy  His  entire  field.  He  wants  me  to  get 
a  margin  of  it,  a  corner  of  it.  He  will  not 
monopolize  the  kingdom,  the  power  and  the 
glory.  He  wants  me  to  get  a  part  in  the 
anthem.  He  moderates  the  strength  of  His 
own  voice  just  that  mine  may  be  heard.  He 
goes  behind  the  trees  of  Eden's  garden  just 
that  I  may  not  see  Him,  just  that  I  may  choose 
unbiassedly  between  the  evil  and  the  good. 

My  Father,  I  have  heard  men  say  that 
Thine  is  not  a  perfect  world.  I  thank  Thee 
for  that  which  men  call  imperfect.  I  bless 
and  magnify  Thy  name  that  Thou  hast 
restrained  part  of  Thy  power ;  this  gentle- 
ness of  Thine  has  made  me  great.  I  have 
heard  the  complaining  of  Thy  Psalmist, 
"  Verily,  Thou  art  a  God  that  hidest  Thyself! " 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.         203 

But,  to  me,  Thy  hiding  has  revealed  some- 
thing— myself.  I  could  never  have  felt  my 
manhood  if  Thou  hadst  not  lowered  Thy 
voice,  if  Thou  hadst  not  left  a  space  unfilled. 
Often  hast  thou  seemed  to  resign  Thy 
sceptre,  to  let  the  world  trample  Thee  down. 
Often  have  I  felt  myself  alone  with  the 
trees  of  the  garden ;  no  thunder  came  from 
Thee  to  say,  "Choose  that  which  is  good!" 
But  that  gentleness,  that  veiling  of  Thy 
lightning,  has  made  a  man  of  me.  I  have 
walked  to  the  tree,  alone ;  I  have  met  both 
vice  and  virtue ;  I  have  given  virtue  the 
nuptial  ring.  I  have  chosen  freely  because 
I  did  not  hear  Thy  thunder.  The  sound  ot 
Thy  thunder  would  have  left  me  without 
choice — would  have  made  me  mindless;  I 
should  have  been  driven  as  the  stars  are  driven. 
But  Thy  silence  has  given  me  speech ;  Thy 
reticence  has  given  me  revelation  ;  Thy  con- 
cealment has  given  me  consciousness.  Thy 
rest  has  roused  me ;  Thy  stillness  has  stirred 
me;  Thy  quiet  has  quickened  me;  Thy 
mildness  has  matured  me.  I  have  learned 
responsibility  by  the  relaxing  of  Thy  hand ; 
Thy  gentleness  has  made  me  great. 


GOD'S    BEREAVEMENT. 

«•  This  my  son  was  dead."— Luke  xv.  24. 

The  prodigal  son  had  not  been  dead  physi- 
cally. We  draw  up  our  list  of  obituaries  on  a 
totally  different  principle  from  that  on  which 
they  are  drawn  up  in  heaven.  We  record  the 
death  of  the  man  ;  God  records  the  death  of  the 
ideal.  There  are  funeral  obsequies  which  make 
the  angels  very  sad ;  but  these  are  generally 
attended  only  by  the  angels.  We  never  call  a 
man  dead  till  the  life  has  left  his  body ;  God 
calls  him  dead  when  the  life  has  left  his  soul. 
There  is  such  a  thing  as  a  Divine  bereave- 
ment. We  shall  never  understand  its  sadness 
until  we  know  what  it  is  to  lose  an  ideal. 
There  is  no  pain  more  excruciating  than  the 
sense  of  an  ideal  lost.  We  speak  of  the  sepa- 
rations through  physical  death  ;  and  they  are 
sad  enough.     But  have  you  ever  thought  that 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.         205 

there  may  be  a  more  effectual  separation  than 
either  physical  death  or  physical  locomotion 
can  bring  !  When  you  go  away  from  me  either 
to  earthly  lands  or  to  the  silent  land,  I  still 
keep  your  picture  in  my  heart.  But  what  it 
your  picture  is  taken  out  of  my  heart !  What 
if  it  is  yoMV  picture,  and  not  yourself,  that  is  to 
be  buried !  What  if  the  beautiful  painting 
of  you,  which  I  kept  in  my  soul  and  for 
whose  sake  I  loved  you,  has  become  ghastly 
and  grim — so  ghastly  and  grim  that  I  have  to 
bury  it  out  of  my  sight !  Will  any  sense  ot 
separation  equal  that !  It  will  be  all  the 
sadder  because  it  will  be  unshared.  Nobody 
will  attend  the  funeral  but  me.  There  will  be 
no  record  in  the  newspapers.  There  will  be 
no  mourning  put  on  by  others.  There  will  be 
no  condolence  cards  of  kind  sympathy.  There 
will  be  no  appreciation  of  why  I  do  not  still 
laugh  and  dance  and  play.  I  shall  have  to 
bear  the  funeral  obsequies  alone. 

Thou  Christ  of  Love,  may  I  never  cause 
Thee  this  pain !  Twice  do  I  read  of  Thy 
tears.  They  were  both  weepings  in  bereave- 
ment— but  in  different  kinds  of  bereavement. 
The  one  was  for  the  physically  dead — Lazarus ; 


2o6         Leaves  for  Quiet  hours. 

the  other  was  for  the  death  of  an  ideal — 
Jerusalem.  But  I  think  the  latter  weeping 
was  the  sorer.  The  dead  Lazarus  brought 
Thy  tears  but  not  Thy  words  ;  the  dead  Jeru- 
salem gave  language  to  Thy  cry.  At  that 
funeral  of  Jerusalem  Thou  alone  wert  present ; 
none  but  Thyself  saw  that  she  was  dead. 
They  were  all  speaking  of  her  glitter  and  her 
glory  when  Thou  wert  weeping  over  her  grave. 
It  was  her  ideal  that  was  dead— her  picture  in 
Thy  heart.  I  often  ask  Thee  to  comfort  my 
hours  of  bereavement ;  do  I  ever  try  to 
comfort  Thine  !  I  often  cry  for  the  raising  of 
my  dead ;  do  I  ever  seek  to  raise  Thine ! 
Help  me  to  try,  O  Lord !  I  should  like  to  give 
Thee  back  one  prodigal  child.  I  should  like 
to  restore  one  buried  picture.  I  should  like  to 
revive  one  dead  ideal.  I  should  like  to  plant 
again  in  Thy  heart  one  flower  of  former  hope. 
There  will  be  music  and  dancing  in  the 
Father  s  house  when  man  shall  give  Thee 
back  Thy  dead. 


THE    INDIVIDUAL'S    PLACE    IN 
NATURE. 

**He  calleth  them  all  by  names  by  the  greatness  of  His 
might;  for  that  He  is  strong  in  power  not  one  faileth." — 
Isaiah  xl.  26. 

What  a  singular  statement !  I  should  have 
expected  just  the  contrary ;  it  is  the  contrary- 
sentiment  we  generally  hear.  Men  are  saying 
every  day,  "  Because  He  is  strong  in  power 
you  could  not  expect  Him  to  care  for  the 
individual^  I  once  stood  beneath  the  dome  of 
night  by  the  side  of  a  very  learned  astronomer. 
He  broke  into  raptures  on  the  vastness  of  the 
starry  spaces.  *' In  the  light  of  these,"  he  cried, 
"  what  a  travesty  seems  a  well-known  Christ- 
ian doctrine  !  " — he  meant  the  Incarnation. 
His  view  was  that  the  power  of  God  was 
disparaged  by  being  associated  with  7)iinzite 
things.       The     prophet    takes     exactly    the 


2o8        Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours 

opposite  view.  He  says  that  the  vastness  of 
God's  power  must  be  proportionate  to  His 
minuteness.  "  In  the  greatness  of  His  might 
He  gives  to  each  thing  a  separate  name ; 
because  He  is  strong  in  power  not  one  faileth." 
Which  of  these  views  is  the  correct  one  ?  I 
know  which  has  been  truest  to  experience — 
the  last.  So  far  as  experience  goes,  what  has 
the  vast  creation  been  doing  all  this  time  ? 
Making  an  individual — a  man.  It  may  have 
been  doing  so  in  all  worlds;  but  we  know 
that  it  has  in  ours.  So  far  as  it  meets  my 
eye,  creation  has  been  a  stepping  downwards 
— from  the  masses  to  the  man,  from  the 
multitude  to  the  unit,  from  the  collective 
forces  to  the  solitary  soul.  Each  stage  has 
become  more  separate  from  the  mass.  The 
stair  which  I  descend  is  a  stair  of  increasing 
personality —matter,  crystal,  plant,  fish,  reptile, 
bird,  mammal,  man.  At  the  foot  of  the  stair 
I  stand  alone.  Wherever  I  came  from — 
whether  created  or  evolved — at  the  foot  of  the 
stair  I  stand  alone.  I  have  nothing  whereon 
I  can  rest.  I  can  pluck  the  flower,  but  it 
does  not  know  me.  I  can  rear  the  bird,  but  it 
does  not  commune  with  me.     I  can  rule  the 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.         209 

beast  of  the  field,  but  it  does  not  understand 
me.  The  latest  stroke  on  Nature's  anvil  has 
produced  an  isolated  soul. 

I  thank  Thee  that  such  has  been  the  climax, 

0  God  !     No  longer,  in  such  a  knowledge,  can 

1  look  at  the  stars  and  say,  **  What  a  travesty 
they  make  of  Christ ! "  In  the  light  of  this 
climax,  it  becomes  all  fit  and  seemly  that  a 
man  should  be  my  hiding-place  from  the  storm, 
a  man  my  covert  from  the  tempest.  Never- 
more let  me  feel  my  insignificance  before 
Thee  !  Nevermore  let  me  sneer  at  a  special 
providence !  Help  me  to  see  that  all  Thy 
providences  have  been  tapering  downward — 
from  the  dayspring  to  the  dust !  That  dust  of 
which  Thou  saidst,  *'  Let  us  make  man,"  is 
Thy  gold  dust;  Thy  closing  work  has  been 
Thy  climax  work.  Fearless  I  stand  below  the 
stars.  Dauntless  I  survey  the  depths  of  night. 
Untrembling  I  behold  the  wonders  of  the 
telescope ;  for  the  microscope  is  the  climax  of 
Thy  glory,  and  Thine  audience  chamber  is  the 
lowest  room. 


THE    TWO    CREATIONS. 

**In  six  days  the  Lord  made  heaven  and  earth."— Exodus 
XX.   II. 

"If  any  man  is  in  Christ,  there  is  a  new  creation."— 2 
Corinthians  v.  17  (R.V.). 

The  narrative  of  the  first  chapter  of  Genesis 
repeats  itself,  I  believe,  in  the  sphere  of  the 
Spirit.  It  is  a  revelation  of  how  God  always 
creates.  What  the  Divine  Spirit  did  when  it 
brooded  on  the  face  of  the  waters  it  is  doing 
again  when  it  broods  over  the  chaos  of  the 
soul.  There  were  six  days  of  the  natural 
creation.  On  the  first,  the  Spirit  moved.  On 
the  second,  the  distant  firmament  appeared. 
On  the  third,  there  was  silent  growth.  On 
the  fourth,  there  was  a  division  of  times. 
On  the  fifth,  there  was  the  life  of  instinct. 
On  the  sixth,  there  was  the  life  of  reason.  So, 
methinks,  is  it  in  the  new  creation — Christ's 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.         211 

re-creation  of  the  soul.  There,  too,  I  recognise 
six  mornings — and  they  repeat  the  first  six 
mornings.  The  Spirit  begins  by  simply  mov- 
ing— quickening  into  life.  Then  comes  the 
sense  of  distance — the  firmament ;  I  begin 
to  feel  that  I  am  in  a  far  country.  Then 
follows  a  stage  of  silent  growth — the  plant 
life  of  the  soul.  Next,  there  is  a  division 
of  time — certain  days  are  set  apart  as  sacred 
days.  Then  break  forth  the  impulses  of 
religious  emotion — the  Divine  instincts  of  the 
heart  by  which  it  pants  for  the  waterbrooks. 
At  last,  faith  becomes  reason ;  religion  runs 
through  all  my  life,  and  permeates  every 
pore ;  God  says  to  the  Spirit,  "  Let  us  make 
man!" 

Lead  me  up  the  stair,  O  Christ — the  stair  of 
Thy  new  creation !  Step  by  step  let  me  rise — 
from  the  movement  to  the  man !  Doubtless 
there  will  be  moments  of  gloom — moments 
when  I  seem  to  make  no  progress.  The 
quickening  of  Thy  Spirit  will  give  me  pain  ; 
the  distance  of  Thy  firmament  will  make  me 
humble ;  the  silence  of  the  underground 
growth  will  cause  me  to  say,  **  I  am  falling 
hack,"     But  ever  as  I  climb  let  me   see  the 


212        Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

climax!  Help  me  to  remember  it  is  the 
ascent  to  man^  nay,  to  the  Son  of  Man — to 
Thee !  When  the  struggling  Spirit  pains  me, 
let  me  remember  I  am  mounting  to  Thee! 
When  the  distant  firmament  appals  me,  let 
me  remember  I  am  mounting  to  Thee ! 
When  the  slow  growth  disconcerts  me,  let  me 
remember  I  am  mounting  to  Thee !  Ever  as 
I  ascend,  let  me  see  in  the  east  Thy  star! 
My  week  of  days  must  needs  be  a  Passion 
Week.  The  darkness  and  the  voidness  and 
the  chaos  have  long  had  possession  of  the 
field;  they  cannot  be  dispossessed  without 
my  pain.  Not  even  the  special  religious 
seasons  of  my  fourth  day  will  dispossess 
them;  I  want  religion  for  all  my  days,  for 
all  my  hours,  for  all  my  moments.  But  I 
shall  find  it  in  Thee.  IMy  Sabbath  rest  is 
coming  at  the  top  of  the  stair.  There  I  shall 
meet  the  day  without  an  evening.  There 
shall  my  worship  be  an  eternal  service. 
There  shall  every  house  be  a  temple,  every 
deed  a  sacrament,  every  thought  a  depth  of 
devotion.  Thou  hast  said  from  the  beginning, 
"  Let  there  be  light ;  "  but  I  shall  only  see  the 
light  when  I  reach  the  top  of  the  stair. 


MAN    BLESSING    GOD. 

"  Bless  the  Lord,  O  my  soul." — Psalm  cm.  i. 

We  commonly  begin  our  prayers  with  a 
request  that  God  will  bless  ics ;  the  Psalmist 
begins  his  prayer  by  calling  on  his  soul  to 
bless  God  !  The  eye  of  the  heart  is  generally 
first  directed  to  its  own  desires  ;  the  eye  of 
the  Psalmist's  heart  is  first  directed  to  the 
desires  of  God  1  It  is  a  startling  feature  of 
prayer,  a  feature  seldom  looked  at.  We  think 
of  prayer  as  a  mount  where  man  stands  to 
receive  the  Divine  blessing.  We  do  not  often 
think  of  it  as  also  a  mount  where  God  stands 
to  receive  the  human  blessing.  Yet  this  latter 
is  the  thought  here.  Nay,  is  it  not  the 
thought  of  our  Lord  Himself!  I  have  often 
meditated  on  these  words  of  Jesus,  "  Seek  ye 
first  the  kingdom  of  God  and  His  righteous- 
ness! "     I  take  them  to  mean  :  "Seek  ye  first 


214        Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

the  welfare  of  God,  the  establishment  of  His 
kingdom,  the  reign  of  His  righteousness  ! 
Before  you  yield  to  self-pity,  before  you  count 
the  number  of  the  things  you  want,  consider 
what  things  are  still  wanting  to  Him  !  Con- 
sider the  spheres  of  life  to  which  His  kingdom 
has  not  yet  spread,  consider  the  human  hearts 
to  which  His  righteousness  has  not  yet  pene- 
trated !  Let  your  spirit  say,  *  Bless  the 
Lord  ! '  Let  the  blessing  upon  God  be  your 
morning  wish  !  It  is  not  your  power  He  asks, 
but  your  wish.  Your  benediction  cannot  sway 
the  forces  of  the  Universe  ;  your  Father  can 
do  that  without  your  prayer.  But  it  is  the 
prayer  itself  that  is  dear  to  Him,  the  desire 
of  your  heart  for  His  heart's  joy,  the  cry  ot 
your  spirit  for  His  crowning,  the  longing  ot 
your  soul  for  the  triumph  of  His  love.  Ever- 
more give  Him  this  bread  !  " 

Lord,  take  my  blessing  on  Thy  labours  ! 
Take  my  prayers  for  the  harvest — Thy  har- 
vest !  I  often  give  Thee  prayers  for  mine. 
But  I  would  remember  that  Thou,  too,  hast  a 
sowing  time  and  a  waiting  time.  I  would  re- 
member that  Thou  hast  committed  Thy  seed 
to  an  uncertain  soil — the  soil  of  my  heart.     I 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.         215 

would  remember  that  between  Thy  spring 
and  Thine  autumn  there  are  many  blasting 
gales,  many  blighting  influences.  I  would 
sing  a  new  song  to  Thee  this  day.  All  the 
old  songs  have  had  one  refrain,  "  Lord,  send 
my  harvest-home !  "  But  the  song  I  would 
now  sing  is  of  higher  strain  ;  and  the  rhythm 
of  its  music  is  this :  A  good  harvest  to  Thee, 
O  Lord  !  May  earth  grant  Thee  Thy  heart's 
desire !  May  the  wings  of  Thy  love  be  un- 
trammelled !  May  the  flight  of  Thy  hope  be 
unfettered !  May  the  sweep  of  Thy  grace 
be  unhampered !  May  the  power  of  Thy 
peace  be  unimpeded  !  May  the  reign  of  Thy 
righteousness  be  unchequered  !  May  the  joy 
of  Thy  presence  be  unbroken  !  May  the  light 
of  Thy  countenance  be  unsullied !  May  the 
music  of  Thy  voice  be  unmuflled  !  May  the 
sway  of  Thy  Spirit  be  unceasing  !  These  are 
my  morning  wishes — my  burden  of  blessings 
on  Thee, 


GOD'S  PRESENCE  IN  DEATH. 

"If  I  make  my  bed  in  Sheol,  Thou  art  there." — Psalm 
cxxxix.  8. 

What  a  strange  spot  for  the  presence  of 
God — Sheol,  the  place  of  the  dead !  I  could 
understand  His  presence  in  every  other  spot. 
If  I  ascended  up  into  heaven,  I  should  expect, 
like  the  Psalmist,  to  find  it  there.  If  I  rose 
on  the  wings  of  the  morning,  I  should  expect 
to  find  it  there.  If  I  launched  on  the  great 
sea,  I  should  expect  to  find  it  there.  Even 
in  the  hour  of  night  I  can  understand  His 
presence,  for  my  night  is  the  day  of  another 
hemisphere.  But  the  place  of  the  dead — 
how  can  God  be  present  here!  Is  not  God 
life,  eternal  life,  exhaustless  life  !  How  can 
eternal  life  claim  a  spot  for  its  presence 
here!  Is  there  anything  in  God's  nature 
which    makes  it   possible   for   Him   to   unite 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.         217 

with  such  an  empty  thing  as  death  ?  Yes ; 
the  very  essence  of  His  nature  does,  for  that 
is  love.  There  is  nothing  so  like  death  as 
love.  Love  is  the  passing  of  my  life  into 
another  life.  I  think  the  most  complete 
death  that  ever  took  place  took  place  in 
heaven.  We  speak  of  dying  as  a  going  to 
heaven  from  earth.  Paul  says  that  the  most 
complete  death  ever  seen  was  a  coming  to 
earth  from  heaven.  He  says  that  the  great- 
est transition  of  life  ever  made  was  where 
Love,  "  though  in  the  form  of  God,  yet 
emptied  itself,  and  took  the  form  of  a  servant, 
and  was  found  in  fashion  as  a  man.*'  In 
the  light  of  such  a  thought,  who  shall  say 
that  the  valley  of  the  shadow  is  to  God  a 
foreign  soil ! 

My  Father,  men  have  thought  to  honour 
Thee  by  excluding  Thy  presence  from  the 
dark  valley ;  I  have  heard  them  say,  "  I  shall 
be  ushered  after  death  into  the  presence  ot 
the  Lord."  Nay,  not  "  after."  That  would 
mean  that  in  the  act  of  dying  I  am  without 
Thy  presence.  I  could  not  bear  that;  it 
would  add  to  death  a  new  terror — the  great- 
est terror  of  all.     Art  Thou  to  be  away  from 


2i8        Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

me  in  my  one  hour  of  absolute  weakness! 
Who  is  to  lead  me  across  the  flood  if  Thou 
art  not  there !  An  angel  ?  I  would  not 
trust  him;  he  knows  less  about  death  than 
Thou  knowest.  He  has  less  experience  ot 
such  a  transit  because  he  has  less  love.  I 
shall  decline  the  escort  of  an  angel ;  I  shall 
decline  the  escort  of  any  guide  who  has  no 
experience  of  the  flood.  Come  Thyself, 
Thou  Immortal  Love,  that  art  yet  immortal 
by  dying !  Come  Thyself  and  bear  me  across 
the  stream !  Thou  hast  sounded  the  stream ; 
Thou  hast  proved  that  life  can  be  immortal 
after  self-forgetfulness — can  live  in  the  ser- 
vant's form  when  the  regal  form  has  been 
discarded.  No  experience  of  the  valley  is 
so  near  to  me  as  Thine.  Come  Thyself  to 
me  in  the  valley !  Send  away  Thine  emissa- 
ries! Dismiss  the  angel  guides  that  essay 
a  depth  beyond  their  strength !  Call  back 
the  unpractised  hands  from  the  brink  of  the 
stream,  and  stand  Thyself  upon  the  bank 
to  comfort  me!  I  would  not  taste  of  death 
till  I  have  seen  Thee  ! 


RELIGION     AND     SOLEMNITY. 

"  Perfect  love  casteth  out  fear."— i  John  iv.  i8. 

The  fear  here  spoken  ot  is  that  pro- 
duced by  solemnity.  St.  John  says  that  the 
sense  of  religious  solemnity  declines  as 
religion  deepens,  until  love  becomes  perfect 
— when  it  vanishes  altogether.  This  is  not 
the  common  view.  The  common  view  is 
that  the  idea  of  God  is  essentially  the  most 
solemn  thought  in  the  world.  How  often  do 
you  speak  of  the  solemnity  of  meeting  God  ! 
You  advocate  the  preparation  for  death  on 
this  ground.  You  look  upon  the  physical 
forces  of  the  world  as  devoid  of  solemnity — 
as  things  you  can  meet  every  day  without  a 
sense  of  mystery  and  without  a  touch  of  awe. 
But  to  meet  God  !  to  meet  the  Author  of  your 
being  ! — that  you  feel  to  be  an  awful  thing,  a 
thing  not  to  be  accomplished  readily.  Now, 
this  is  not  my  opinion.    The  idea  of  God  is,  to 


220         Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

me,  the  least  solemn  thought  in  the  universe. 
It  may  sound  startling  to  say  so  ;  yet  I  feel 
that  my  sentiment  is  founded  in  reason.  I 
have  more  relation  to  God  than  to  any  object 
in  Nature — just  because  he  is  the  Author  ot 
my  being.  I  know  more  about  Hi7n  than  I 
do  about  anything  surrounding  me ;  above 
all,  I  know  that  He  comprehends  me.  I  am 
an  agnostic  about  everything  else.  I  am  an 
agnostic  about  matter,  and  therefore  I  am  very 
solemn  in  its  presence.  I  do  not  understand 
it,  and  I  am  quite  sure  it  does  not  understand 
me.  What  does  the  sun  know  about  me ! 
what  does  the  tree  know  about  me  !  I  am  a 
foreigner  to  them  ;  they  are  foreigners  to  me. 
But  God  is  related  to  me  ;  God  is  allied  to 
me ;  God  is  my  Father.  He  is  the  only 
presence  that  is  not  a  mystery  to  me,  that 
does  not  make  me  feel  awe-struck.  My  hour 
of  solemnity  is  my  hour  in  the  temple  of 
Nature  ! 

And  I  come  to  Thee,  my  Father,  to  get  that 
solemnity  removed.  I  come  to  Thee  as  the 
only  being  who  can  lift  my  solemnity  from 
surrounding  things.  I  want  one  friend  in  the 
world — one  whom  I   know,  one  who  knows 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hoxjrs.         221 

me.  I  want  someone  who  will  lead  me  through 
the  mystic  labyrinth  of  the  things  of  sense, 
and  make  me  feel  less  strange  in  the  world. 
When  I  stand  below  the  stars  without  Thee 
I  say  with  Jacob,  "  How  dreadful  is  this 
place  ! "  Take  away  the  dread,  my  Father  ! 
Light  this  solemn  world  with  Thy  smile  ! 
Dispel  with  Thy  voice  the  solitude  I  feel  ! 
Guide  me  amid  the  things  I  know  not,  the 
things  that  know  not  me  !  It  is  not  death 
I  am  afraid  of;  it  is  life — life  without  Thee. 
Life  without  Thee  is  too  solemn,  too  awful, 
too  weird  a  thing.  I  must  hear  a  familiar 
voice  if  I  would  brave  unfamiliar  forms ;  only 
trust  can  stop  my  trembling,  only  love  can 
cast  out  fear.  There  is  no  place  prepared  for 
me  in  Nature's  mansions  till  I  have  met  Thy 
Christ.  The  Beautiful  Gate  of  the  Temple  is 
too  beautiful  without  Htm;  I  lie  lame  and 
impotent  before  it.  Show  me  a  warm  fire 
within — love's  fire,  heart's  fire  ;  and  in  that 
hour  the  solemnity  will  pass  away,  and  I  shall 
walk  through  the  Beautiful  Gate  **  leaping, 
and  praising  God  1 " 


THE  BETHLEHEM  OF  THE  HEART. 

*'  Until  Christ  be  formed  in  you." — Galatians  iv.  19. 

The  formation  of  Christ  in  the  heart  is  the 
birth  of  Christ  in  the  soul.  Paul  says  that 
Bethlehem  is  repeated  in  each  Christian  life. 
Christ  begins  in  the  heart  as  He  began  in  the 
world — as  a  child,  as  an  undeveloped  form. 
Very  like  the  birth  at  Bethlehem  is  the  birth  in 
the  soul.  There  comes  into  the  life  a  thing  as 
yet  inarticulate,  and  with  no  language  but 
a  cry.  It  comes  into  the  midst  of  adverse 
influences.  It  does  not  wait  till  the  ground  is 
clear,  wait  till  the  man  is  reformed.  No ; 
it  enters  the  house  while  it  is  still  only  a 
manger.  It  lies  down  beside  the  original 
tenants — the  beasts  of  the  stall.  It  is  born 
while  yet  Herod  is  king.  Herod  is  ever  at 
war  with  its  birth,  would  fain  kill  it.  The 
infant   Christ  within  me   is   opposed   by  the 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.         223 

full-grown  selfishness  within  me ;  they  are 
contrary,  yet  they  live  awhile  in  my  heart 
together.  Small  as  the  infant  Jesus  is,  it 
troubles  the  full-grown  king.  That  little 
thing  I  call  my  conscience  makes  a  complete 
coward  of  the  Herod  within  me.  It  has  a 
still  small  voice  and  Herod  has  a  very  loud 
one ;  yet  it  is  Herod  that  trembles,  not  Jesus. 
The  most  hopeful  thing  about  the  old  king 
is  just  his  fear  of  the  infant  Jesus.  There 
must  be  a  flaw  in  his  selfish  armour  when 
he  is  afraid  of  a  tiny  babe.  That  infant 
is,  outwardly  speaking,  the  most  impotent 
thing  in  the  kingdom ;  yet  Herod  fears  it 
more  than  all  the  legions.  He  says,  **  If  only 
this  child  would  die  I  should  have  peace  ! " 

So  thou  wouldst,  my  selfish  heart;  there- 
fore He  will  not  die.  This  child  of  troubling 
voice  is  a  Christmas  gift  to  thee.  The  first 
gift  from  thy  Father  is  a  present  of  pain.  I 
have  read  that  an  angel  came  down  to  trouble 
the  waters ;  the  infant  Christ  is  that  angel. 
He  seems  a  powerless  life  amid  the  beasts 
of  the  stall.  But  there  are  strange  songs 
around  Him  prophetic  of  coming  glory,  strange 
gifts  beside  him  predictive  of  future  riches. 


224         Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

It  is  by  the  songs,  it  is  by  the  gifts,  I  know 
that  Christ  is  born  in  thee.  Thy  songs  are 
above  thine  environment ;  thy  gifts  received 
are  beyond  thy  position.  Why  is  it  that  after 
the  work  of  a  selfish  day  there  come  to  thee  as 
to  Jacob  voices  through  the  casement  window 
— voices  whose  burden  is  the  message,  "  Glory 
to  God  in  the  Highest"?  Why  is  it  that 
there  come  to  thee  aspirings  after  the  good, 
cravings  for  something  white,  longings  for 
something  pure;  how  could  such  gold  and 
frankincense  and  myrrh  get  into  thy  manger  ? 
Why  is  it  that  when  seeking  only  money 
there  glitters  a  star  before  thee — a  star  which 
fills  thy  sky  and  will  not  be  extinguished  ? 
It  is  because  a  new  presence  has  dawned 
within  thee  ;  Jesus  is  born  in  Bethlehem. 


THE  BURDEN-BEARERS. 

"  He  gave  wagons  unto  the  sons  of  Merari ;  but  unto  the  sons 
of  Kohath  he  gave  none,  because  the  service  of  the  sanctuary 
belonging  unto  them  was  that  they  should  bear  upon  their 
shoulders."— Numbers  vii.  8,  9. 

There  are  two  sets  of  men  in  this  world — 
the  sons  ot  Merari  and  the  sons  of  Kohath — 
the  men  who  have  wagons  and  the  men  who 
have  none.  It  is  very  much  the  distinction 
between  the  labouring  and  the  heavy-laden. 
The  men  who  have  wagons  are  the  world's 
active  souls.  They  have  their  own  share  of 
griefs,  but  they  have  influences  that  can  lift 
them.  They  have  to  go  out  to  their  daily 
work.  They  have  to  visit  the  exchange.  They 
have  to  transact  buying  and  selling.  In  a 
time  of  grief  this  necessity  may  be  a  pain,  but 
it  is  also  a  cure.  The  rolling  wheels  of 
worldly  labour  carry  away  one-half  the 
burden  from  the  sons  of  Merari.     But  with 


226         Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

the  sons  of  Kohath  it  is  very  different.  These 
are  the  passive  souls  of  life.  They  have  no 
wagons,  no  influences  to  divert  them  from 
their  grief;  they  carry  it  all  on  their  own 
shoulders.  They  are  incapacitated  from  out- 
ward work  ;  they  have  to  stay  at  home.  And 
because  they  have  to  stay  at  home  they  are  the 
victims  of  self-reflection ;  their  sorrow  turns 
in  upon  itself.  The  sons  of  Kohath  seem  the 
less  heroic,  but  they  are  really  the  most  to 
be  pitied.  They  can  do  nothing  to  lift  their 
burden,  nothing  to  make  it  lighter  to  the  house- 
hold. They  are  themselves  an  additional 
burden  to  the  household ;  the  most  that  can 
be  expected  of  them  is  to  suffer  and  not  cry. 

Ye  sons  of  Kohath,  I  have  a  message  for 
you;  I  bring  you  good  tidings  of  great  joy! 
Have  you  ever  marked  these  words:  "The 
service  of  the  sanctuary  belonging  to  them 
was  that  they  should  bear  upon  their 
shoulders.'*  "The  service  beloiiging  unto 
them" — that  is  a  grand  thought,  a  thought 
that  may  well  lift  one-half  of  your  burden ! 
During  these  days  of  prostration  you  are 
not  wasting  your  time,  you  are  not  wasting 
God's   time.       You   are   finishing  the  actual 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.         227 

work  which  your  Father  has  given  you  to  do. 
You  have  been  always  lamenting  that  your 
work  has  been  postponed.  You  have  been 
crying  from  morn  to  eve,  "  If  some  one  would 
only  lift  this  load  from  my  shoulders,  I  would 
do  my  part  in  the  world."  Nay,  ye  sons  of 
Kohath,  this  is  your  part  in  the  world,  this 
is  the  service  which  ^^  belongs  to  you."  You 
have  not  been  shunted  from  the  line,  God's 
line.  In  the  sanctuary  of  the  Lord  **they 
also  serve  who  only  stand  and  wait."  Nay,  I 
will  go  further ;  I  will  say,  '*  They  also  serve 
who  only  lie  down  and  are  waited  upon." 
Think  you  that  the  sick  do  no  work  for  the 
healthy!  They  present  the  very  food  on 
which  charity  lives  and  breathes.  The  sons 
of  ^lerari  would  be  poor  creatures  without 
you  sons  of  Kohath ;  their  sympathies  would 
starve,  their  pity  die.  Lift  up  your  eyes,  and 
behold  your  place  in  the  universe  of  God! 
To  you  the  heart  owes  its  fountains  of 
compassion.  By  you  is  stirred  the  pulse  of 
human  tenderness.  In  you  is  nourished  that 
ministrant  river  whose  streams  make  glad  the 
city  of  God.  Magnify  your  office,  ye  sons  of 
Kohath ! 

Q  a 


THE    LATENESS    OF    CHRISTIAN 
LIBERTY. 

"  Then  had  thy  peace  been  as  a  river,  and  thy  righteousness 
as  the  waves  of  the  sea." — Isaiah  xlviii.  i8. 

Is  my  religion,  then,  to  have  a  widening 
process  as  I  go  !  I  am  told  that  my  peace  is 
to  be  only  as  a  river,  but  that  my  righteous- 
ness is  to  be  as  the  waves  of  the  sea.  I 
should  have  expected  the  reverse.  I  should 
have  thought  that  the  widest  stage  would  be 
the  opening  stage — that  the  waves  of  the 
sea  would  have  come  first,  and  the  river 
afterwards.  I  should  have  judged  that  many 
things  would  be  permitted  to  the  beginner 
which  would  not  be  allowed  to  the  adult.  I 
should  have  deemed  that  liberty  would  have 
been  greatest  in  the  morning  and  most  cur- 
tailed in  the  afternoon.  The  prophet  says  it 
is  just  the  opposite — in  the  morning  I  have 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.         229 

fetters  on;  in  the  afternoon  I  am  free.  The 
simile  of  my  afternoon  freedom  is  the  broad 
sea  with  its  bounding  waves  and  its  buoyant 
breezes.  It  is  generally  the  simile  for  youth. 
We  think  of  the  ship  of  life  as  being  launched 
into  an  element  where  care  is  not  yet  known, 
where  nothing  is  seen  but  the  expanse,  where 
the  waters  seem  to  touch  the  sky.  We  look 
to  the  banks  of  the  river  as  something  which 
will  come  afterwards,  something  which  will 
break  our  dream.  But  here  the  expanse  is 
for  old  age — Christian  old  age.  Here  the 
boundlessness  is  for  the  adult — not  the  youth. 
Here  the  ocean  breezes  are  for  the  autumn — 
not  the  spring.  Here  the  w^onders  of  the 
deep  are  for  the  grey — not  the  gold.  Here 
the  freedom  of  the  wave  is  for  the  man  of  the 
setting  sun — not  the  child  of  the  dawn. 

Jesus,  let  me  stand  where  the  harpers 
stand — upon  Thy  sea!  I  am  weary  of  being 
restrained  by  the  river  banks.  I  am  weary  of 
being  denied  the  full  freedom  of  Thy  worldly 
field.  It  is  because  the  worldly  field  is  Thy 
field  that  I  want  the  liberty  to  use  it.  I  feel 
I  could  extend  Thine  empire — make  more 
room  for  Thy  cross.     There  are  a  thousand 


230        Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

things  dedicated  to  selfishness  which  I  long 
to  dedicate  to  Thee,  Why  are  Thy  churches 
so  eager  to  debar  me  from  worldly  places ! 
We  often  put  flowers  on  Thine  altar ;  I  should 
like  to  put  Thine  altar  among  flowers.  It 
grieves  me  that  there  should  be  garnered  for 
Thee  none  of  life's  beautiful  things.  We  give 
Thee  the  grim  but  not  the  gay,  the  ghastly 
but  not  the  glad,  the  roughness  but  not  the 
roses,  the  trembling  but  not  the  transport. 
We  bring  Thee  the  dirge  but  we  keep  the 
dance.  We  offer  Thee  the  mourning  but  we 
retain  the  mirth.  We  present  Thee  with  the 
sigh  but  we  withhold  the  singing.  We  invite 
Thee  to  the  funeral  but  we  bar  Thee  from  the 
feast.  We  ask  Thee  to  the  wringing  of  hands 
but  not  to  the  ringing  of  bells.  We  call  Thee 
to  our  flow  of  tears  but  not  to  our  overflow  of 
spirits.  We  summon  Thee  to  the  breaking 
of  the  heart  but  not  to  the  breaking  of  the 
day.  No  wonder  I  am  eager  to  stand  upon 
Thy  sea  1 


THE    RENEWAL    OF    MORNING. 

"  The  glory  of  the  Lord  came  into  the  house,  by  the  way  of 
the  gate  whose  prospect  is  toward  the  east." — Ezekiel  xliii.  4. 

There  are  some  places  which  catch  the 
morning  and  some  which  catch  the  evening 
sun.  There  are  gates  which  look  toward  the 
east,  and  there  are  gates  which  look  toward 
the  west.  When  life  fronts  the  west,  it  is 
contemplating  old  age ;  when  life  fronts  the 
east,  it  is  contemplating  youth.  When  Christ 
enters  the  temple  of  the  heart,  we  have  always 
an  eastern  prospect.  It  does  not  matter  how 
old  we  are  or  how  dilapidated  the  temple  ;  the 
moment  Christ  enters  the  prospect  is  eastern. 
The  first  cry  of  every  Christian  is  to  get  back 
to  the  morning.  What  do  you  mean  by  the 
prayer  to  have  your  sins  forgiven  ?  It  is 
simply  the  cry  to  re-tread  your  past — to  go 
back  to  the  morning  sun.     Why  do  you  not 


232        Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

merely  say,  "  Let  the  dead  past  bury  its  dead ; 
I  will  try  to  live  better  in  the  future  '*  ?  It  is 
because  you  want  not  simply  a  golden  west, 
but  a  golden  east — not  merely  a  fine  evening, 
but  a  retrieved  morning.  That  is  why  you 
cry  for  the  expiation  of  the  past.  You  want 
to  have  the  sense  of  beginning  again,  of  being 
a  child  again.  You  want  to  feel,  not  merely 
that  there  are  no  blots  on  your  present  page, 
but  that  there  are  no  blots  on  your  past  page. 
Nothing  causes  you  to  blot  the  new  page  like 
the  memory  of  blots  on  the  old.  You  seek  a 
fresh  start — a  morning  prospect,  a  window 
toward  the  east,  a  view  of  the  rising  sun; 
nothing  else  will  give  you  a  sense  of  glory. 

My  brother,  in  Christ  this  glory  may  be 
yours!  Other  masters  can  promise  you  a 
golden  west.  Other  masters  can  point  you  to 
the  hope  of  a  new  day  when  this  day  has 
closed ;  but  they  all  leave  the  present  day  in 
the  blackness  of  darkness ;  none  point  you 
back  to  a  retrieved  morning.  Jesus  does  ;  He 
offers  to  rekindle  your  east.  He  promises  to 
wash  your  past  blemishes  away,  to  erase  the 
blots  from  the  page  of  yesterday.  He  offers 
to  make  your  badness  work  for  good — to  lift 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.         z^t, 

the  stumbling-blocks  you  have  left  upon 
the  highway,  and  make  them  the  stepping- 
stones  of  man.  That,  my  brother,  is  your 
prospect  of  glory — an  eastern  prospect,  a 
morning  prospect.  Go  forth  to  meet  it ! 
Go  forth  with  youth's  elastic  step !  There 
is  a  step  which  belongs  only  to  the  feet  on 
the  threshold ;  there  is  a  lightness  of  tread 
which  beginners  alone  can  possess.  It  may 
be  yours  this  day.  However  old,  broken, 
shaken  you  be,  it  may  be  yours  this  day — shall 
be  yours  if  you  will  it.  For  you  the  kindling 
east  once  more  is  waiting.  For  you  the  star 
of  Bethlehem  once  more  is  shining.  For  you 
the  garments  of  a  child  once  more  are  weav- 
ing. For  you  the  race  of  life  once  more  is 
opening.  A  second  baptism  is  before  you  ;  a 
new  name  will  be  given  you  ;  the  blood  of  a 
higher  birth  will  be  the  starting  of  your  day. 
You  will  retrieve  the  waste  of  the  vanished 
years ;  your  glory  is  coming  from  the  eastern 
gate. 


THE    SUBORDINATION    OF    CHRIST. 

"God  sent  forth  His  Son,  made  under  the  law." — Gala- 
TIANS  IV.  4. 

The  idea  is  that  Jesus  never  used  His 
full  freedom.  He  observed  the  religious 
ordinances  of  His  day.  He  went  to  church. 
He  had  no  need  to  go  to  church.  He  was 
in  direct  communion  with  His  Father.  He 
must  have  felt  the  temple  services  to  be 
altogether  inadequate,  obstructive  to  the 
emotions  of  His  heart.  It  was  like  a  great 
author  reading  the  work  of  a  very  poor 
author.  Yet  Jesus  was  willing  to  read 
books.  He  asked  to  be  baptized.  He  had 
no  need  to  be  baptized.  Baptism  was  for 
the  cleansing  of  sin ;  He  had  no  sin  to  be 
cleansed.  But  He  saw  the  crowd  go  down 
to  the  river,  and  He  resolved  to  go  with 
them.      He  wished   from  the  very  outset  to 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.         235 

identify  Himself  with  that  which  was  beneath 
Him.  That  river  of  baptism  was  for  Him 
the  river  of  God's  pleasures,  because  it  was 
a  source  of  mental  sacrifice.  He  was  above 
it,  had  no  need  to  bathe  in  it.  But  the 
people  had  need.  He  refused  to  separate 
from  the  people,  to  be  thought  of  as  separate. 
He  insisted  on  serving  during  the  same 
hours  prescribed  for  their  working-day.  He 
would  wear  their  badge.  He  would  use 
their  implements.  He  would  carry  a  burden 
equal  to  theirs.  He  would  do  the  same 
amount  of  work.  He  would  serve  for  the 
same  length  of  time.  You  will  always  find 
Jesus  occupying  an  inferior  room  to  that 
which  He  has  a  right  to  possess. 

My  brother,  have  you  considered  this  field 
for  the  imitation  of  Christ !  It  is  rather  a 
novel  field.  We  often  point  to  Christ  as  an 
incentive  to  fly  upward  ;  here  we  meet  Him 
as  an  incentive  to  fly  downward.  You  have 
moments  of  spiritual  exaltation  in  wliich  you 
feel  yourself  to  be  lifted  above  the  crowd. 
You  say,  "  I  do  not  need  to  go  to  church ;  I 
have  a  Bible  in  myself;  I  have  communion 
with  God  on  the  hillside;    I  have  infinitely 


236        Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

more  light  on  sacred  subjects  than  the  poor 
creature  who  occupies  the  parish  pulpit  to- 
day/' Very  likely  you  have.  But  did  it 
never  strike  you  that  there  are  times  in  which 
you  ought  to  accept  less  light  than  your  own  ! 
Did  it  never  occur  to  you  that  the  people 
may  not  be  ready  for  the  degree  of  your  light, 
that  a  less  amount  may  be  essential  to  them  ! 
If  it  be  so,  then,  my  brother,  you  ought  to 
step  downward.  Jesus  stepped  downward — 
downward  into  that  Jordan  which  was  below 
Him.  You  must  follow  Jesus.  You  must 
share  the  burden  of  those  who  are  beneath 
you.  It  will  not  do  for  you  to  send  the  lame 
man  into  the  pool  of  Bethesda  while  you 
remain  on  dry  land.  You  must  go  down 
with  him.  You  must  let  him  feel  that  you 
are  his  companion  in  tribulation.  You  must 
not  let  him  disparage  the  water  in  which 
he  is  bathing.  He  will  disparage  it  if  you 
keep  away,  if  you  stand  loftily  upon  the 
bank  and  survey  him  from  afar.  The  dis- 
paragement will  impede  the  cure.  Come 
down,  my  brother;  come  down  into  the 
stream  I 


THE  PLACE  OF  FAITH  IN  RELIGION. 

"  They  that  know  Thy  name  will  put  their  trust  in  Thee,  for 
Thou  hast  not  forsaken  them  that  seek  Tiiee."— Psalm  IX.  lo. 

And  so  faith  is  not  the  opposite  of  reason ! 
I  used  to  think  it  was.  I  used  to  think  it  was 
a  blind  impulse.  The  Psalmist  says  it  is 
founded  on  experience.  "  They  that  know 
Thy  name"  means  "They  that  know  Thy 
fame  " — Thy  reputation  for  cures — the  number 
Thou  hast  healed  in  the  past.  Faith  is  not 
credulity.  It  is  built,  says  the  Psalmist,  on 
the  law  of  averages — on  a  study  of  the  census, 
"  Thou  hast  not  forsaken  them  that  seek 
Thee."  We  shall  never  get  a  living  faith 
until  we  get  back  that  view.  We  rest  our 
faith  on  the  command  of  God ;  we  should  rest 
it  on  the  name  of  God — on  the  fame  of  God. 
The  hypnotist  puts  a  man  into  a  sleep,  and 
says,   "  Believe  whatever  I  tell  you ! "     And 


238         Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours 

the  man  does.  But  we  all  deem  him  weak, 
and  few  of  us  would  like  to  be  thought  that 
man.  Nor  should  I  like  to  be  thought  that 
man,  even  though  the  hypnotist  were  God 
Almighty !  I  should  be  ashamed  to  be  con- 
verted so  unscientifically,  and  Christ  would 
justify  my  shame.  I  have  read  of  the  men  on 
Transfiguration  Mount  that  "  when  they  were 
awake  they  saw  His  glory."  Ah  !  there  it  is 
— when  they  were  awake.  He  often-  gives  His 
beloved  sleep— often  gives  them  hypnotic  sleep 
— rest  by  the  mere  act  of  gazing.  But  in  no 
hypnotic  sleep  does  He  exact,  would  He 
accept,  an  act  oi faith.  It  is  from  my  waking 
soul,  from  my  reasoning  soul,  from  my  pru- 
dent and  poising  and  pondering  soul  that  He 
values  the  expression  of  my  faith. 

Son  of  Man,  I  did  not  come  to  Thee  by  the 
gate  of  faith ;  I  came  to  the  gate  of  faith  by 
Thee.  Men  said  to  me,  "  Believe  and  live !  " 
I  said,  "Live,  and  beheve!'*  I  learnt  at 
school  that  faith  was  the  root,  and  knowledge 
the  flower ;  I  have  learned  by  experience  that 
knowledge  is  the  root  and  faith  the  flower. 
They  told  me  that  faith  was  the  spring-time, 
the  seed-time,  the   stage   of  the   simple  be- 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.         239 

ginner.  I  have  found  that  it  is  the  latest 
phase  of  growth — the  very  siunmcr  of  the 
soul.  j\Iy  faith  was  born  of  sight — born  of 
experience.  I  did  not  first  believe  and  then 
come;  I  came  and  then  believed.  I  kept 
near  Thee  before  I  knew  Thee ;  I  knew  Thee 
before  I  believed  in  Thee.  It  was  first  the 
look,  then  the  learning,  last  of  all,  the  love, 
and  faith  the  wing  of  love.  Not  in  the 
darkness  have  I  soared  to  Thee,  O  Christ ! 
Not  by  a  blind  impulse  of  the  heart  have 
I  flown  to  Thy  bosom  !  Mine  has  been  not 
only  the  wing,  but  the  eye,  of  an  eagle  ;  I 
have  seen  where  I  was  going,  I  have  known 
in  whom  I  have  believed.  My  wing  has  been 
love's  wing.  My  flight  has  not  been  in  the 
winter;  it  has  been  prompted  by  green  leaves. 
My  soaring  has  not  been  in  the  midnight ; 
it  has  been  tempted  by  the  morning  sky. 
My  faith  is  born  of  love,  and  my  love  is  born 
of  light,  and  my  light  is  born  of  experience, 
and  my  experience  is  born  of  nearness ;  these 
are  the  golden  steps  on  which  I  mount  to 
Thee. 


CHRIST'S    UNFINISHED    WORK. 

"Jesus  commanded  that  something  should  be  given  her  to 
eat." — Mark  v.  43. 

It  is  the  daughter  of  Jairus  that  is  spoken 
of.  Jesus  has  restored  her  to  life;  He  now 
commends  her  to  ordinary  human  care.  It 
was  not  enough  that  life  had  come  back.  It 
had  come  back  in  a  state  of  vacancy.  It  had 
to  be  filled,  replenished,  invigorated.  The 
regeneration  was  only  a  part  of  the  process. 
The  damsel  had  been  raised ;  Christ  com- 
manded that  she  should  be  fed.  Is  there  not 
something  strange  in  this  narrative !  Why 
should  not  Jesus  have  done  the  whole  work 
Himself!  If  He  could  bring  back  life,  why 
bring  it  back  vacant !  Why  not  restore  it  in 
its  summer  bloom !  If  I  repair  your  watch 
and  give  it  back  to  you,  do  I  not,  before 
returning  it,  put  it  to  the  right  hour !     Why 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.         241 

does  Jesus  give  back  this  maiden  in  a  state 
so  worn  and  dilapidated  ?  It  is  that  you  and 
/  may  have  something  to  do.  Have  you 
ever  thought  of  these  words  of  Paul,  "I  fill 
up  that  which  is  behind  in  the  sufferings  of 
Christ."  In  spite  of  His  sympathy  with 
human  sorrow,  Christ  left  something  behind, 
something  unfinished.  Why  ?  Because  He 
wanted  you  to  have  a  stone  in  the  temple. 
It  would  be  a  very  easy  thing  for  Him  to 
give  the  daughter  of  Jairus  food  as  well  as 
life;  personally.  He  would  prefer  to  do  so. 
But,  as  Paul  says,  "Jesus  Christ  pleased  not 
Himself."  He  restrained  Himself  in  the  thing 
He  delighted  in.  He  wanted  you  and  me  to 
be  sharers  in  the  joy  of  doing  it.  He  did  not 
wish  to  monopolise  the  joy.  Therefore  He 
left  each  work  unfinished.  He  sent  back 
Lazarus  in  his  grave-clothes.  He  made  the 
restored  leper  seek  ceremonial  cleansing.  He 
recalled  to  earth  the  daughter  of  Jairus  in 
the  condition  of  a  famished  child. 

I  thank  Thee,  O  Christ,  for  the  parts  of  Thy 
work  which  are  left  behind.  Thy  pleasure 
would  have  been  to  finish  them  ;  the  impulse 
of  Thy  heart  prompted  Thee  to  complete  the 


242        Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

cure.  But  Thou  hadst  a  care  for  the  impulse 
of  my  heart.  If  Thou  hadst  done  all,  there 
would  have  been  no  object  for  my  pity.  My 
pity  would  have  died  for  want  of  exercise. 
It  would  have  met  the  fate  of  the  fish  in 
Kentucky's  cave  that  have  lost  their  eyes 
through  disuse.  I  should  be  as  sad  to  lose 
my  pity  as  to  lose  my  eyes;  it  would  lower 
me  more.  Thou  hast  averted  from  me  this 
calamity.  Thou  hast  refused  to  put  my  pity 
in  the  cave.  Thou  hast  left  a  part  of  Thy 
work  unfinished.  Thou  hast  left  it  for  me  to 
do,  that  my  pity  may  not  die.  I  see  the 
daughter  of  Jairus  less  cured  than  she  might 
have  been — less  cured  than  she  would  have 
been  but  for  Thy  love  to  me,  I  see  her  alive 
but  not  vigorous,  waking  but  still  in  want. 
Thou  hast  given  her  body  a  spirit  eternal, 
but  Thou  hast  clothed  it  in  a  mean  robe 
temporal ;  Thou  hast  been  lavish  of  the  gold 
but  saving  of  the  brass.  I  bless  Thee  that 
Thou  hast  not  been  lavish  all  round  ;  it  has 
left  a  margin  for  me.  Help  me  to  feed  the 
lives  whom  Thou  hast  sent  hungry  to  my 
door! 


THE    CHILD    JESUS    AMONG    THE 
DOCTORS. 

**  They  found  Him  in  the  temple,  sitting  in  the  midst  of  the 
doctors,  both  hearing  them,  and  asking  them  questions." — 
Luke  ii.  46. 

Had  Jesus,  then,  something  to  learn  about 
God  ?  Yes ;  the  imperfect  way  of  reaching 
Him.  The  bird  has  a  perfect  way  of  reach- 
ing the  top  of  the  mountain — it  can  rise  on 
the  wing.  But  it  would  never  be  able  in  its 
present  nature  to  reach  the  top  of  the  moun- 
tain in  our  /'^perfect  way — the  mode  called 
climbing ;  it  would  need  to  learn  that.  Jesus 
could  reach  the  Father  on  the  wing — in  a 
moment,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye.  He 
could  mount  by  a  flight  of  intuition  to  the 
house  not  made  with  hands,  eternal  in  the 
heavens  —  could  soar  instantaneously  into 
the  secret  place  of  the  Most  High.  But  to 
climb  into  that  place  as  we  do,  to  moderate 


244        Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

the  pace  in  reaching*  God,  to  walk  to  the  spot 
to  which  He  was  wont  \.o  fly — this  was  a  hard 
thing,  this  had  to  be  learned.  Jesus  and  the 
doctors  had  both  approached  the  Father ;  but 
they  had  travelled  in  different  vehicles.  Jesus 
had  flown  on  the  wings  of  an  eagle;  the 
doctors  had  ascended  in  a  stage-coach,  with 
many  halts  by  the  way.  Jesus  wished  to 
learn  the  slow  mode  of  conveyance  which  the 
doctors  had.  He  could  only  learn  it  by  tra- 
velling with  them  awhile.  He  came  into  their 
temple  to  practise  their  method.  Very  likely 
He  found  it  arduous  work,  more  arduous  than 
you  would  have  found  it.  For  one  accus- 
tomed to  the  wing  the  travelling  by  land 
must  be  irksome.  But  the  doctors  of  the 
earthly  temple  travel  by  land ;  therefore  Jesus 
said,  "  I  will  do  so  too." 

And  yet,  Thou  Child- Jesus,  methinks  the 
doctors  learned  more  from  Thee  than  Thou 
didst  from  them.  When  I  study  in  the  temple 
of  earth  amid  the  doctors,  what  I  need  most 
is  a  glimpse  of  Thee.  I  am  always  in  danger 
of  forgetting  the  instincts  of  the  child.  I 
pride  myself  on  the  evidences  of  my  toil — of 
my  long  climbing.  I  point  to  the  tear  and 
wear  the  journey  has  cost  me — to  the  weary 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.         245 

feet,  to  the  soiled  garments.  I  magnify  the 
laborious  tread  of  my  reason  ;  I  pity  the  ease 
of  the  child's  movement  on  the  wing.  And 
yet,  if  I  could  get  the  child  into  my  temple, 
I  should  travel  better.  If  I  had  more  faith, 
my  reason  might  be  less  laborious,  but  it 
would  be  more  clear.  Bring  the  child  into 
Thy  temple  courts,  nay,  come  Thyself  into 
these  temple  courts,  Thou  Child-Jesus!  Stand 
again  among  the  doctors  of  our  day,  and  ask 
the  questions  which  belong  to  opening  life  ! 
Stand  again  among  the  doctors  with  the 
freshness  of  morning's  glow!  Show  them 
the  vision  of  the  dawn  !  Bring  to  their  re- 
membrance the  faith  at  a  mother's  knee ! 
Recall  to  them  the  memories  of  home !  Re- 
mind them  of  youth's  enthusiasms  !  Revive 
in  their  hearts  the  image  of  things  once 
consecrated — of  the  old  church,  the  old  Sab- 
bath school,  the  old  group  that  gathered 
round  the  family  altar  !  Plant  anew  the  seeds 
sown  in  their  Bethlehem  ;  nay,  clear  away 
the  accretions,  and  they  will  find  that  the 
seeds  have  never  ceased  to  grow  !  The  Tem- 
ple of  Science  will  be  beautiful  when  it  has 
numbered  among  the  doctors  a  Child- Jesus. 


THE    BEGINNING    OF    HUMAN 
AMBITIONS. 

**  Those  that  seek  Me  early  shall  find  Me."— Proverbs 
VIII.  17. 

To  seek  God  is  a  very  bold  aim,  the 
greatest  aim  that  marksmen  ever  took.  The 
command  to  take  that  aim  early  is  a  paradox. 
We  do  not  teach  a  beginner  to  aim  at  things 
ver^'  far  off.  We  set  before  the  child  an  ideal 
within  reach  of  his  arm.  We  go  on  the 
principle  that  our  power  to  hit  the  mark 
will  grow  from  less  to  more.  But  the  prin- 
ciple here  is  just  the  opposite.  God's  rule  is, 
"Let  your  earliest  aim  be  at  the  highest — at 
Myself !  "  He  says  that  to  be  a  successful 
marksman  one  should  try  first  to  hit  the 
farthest  heights.  The  first  object  of  a  child's 
moral  imitation  should  be  not  the  human  but 
the  Divine,  not  his  companions  but  his  God  ; 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.         247 

his  highest  aim  should  be  his  earliest.  And, 
indeed,  I  think  experience  will  bear  out  this 
view.  I  do  not  think  an  inferior  form  of 
beauty  so  fitted  to  stimulate  a  beginner  as 
a  superior  form.  Sunlight  will  always  be 
more  stimulating  than  candle-light.  If  I 
want  to  waken  a  child's  admiration  I  would 
rather  direct  him  to  the  glow  of  the  morning 
than  to  the  gleam  of  the  gas.  I  would  make 
him  begin  at  the  top  of  the  ladder.  I  would 
point  him  to  God,  before  all  things.  I  would 
tell  him  to  fix  his  eye  first  on  the  Absolute 
Beauty.  I  would  direct  him  on  the  threshold 
to  the  flawless,  peerless.  I  would  lead  him, 
not  into  the  outer  court  of  the  temple,  but 
into  the  Holy  of  Holies,  the  inner  shrine 
where  the  Highest  sits  supreme.  I  would 
let  Him  descend  from  God  to  man,  not  ascend 
from  man  to  God. 

My  soul,  aim  first  at  the  skies  !  Do  not 
begin  with  anything  near  the  ground  !  Do 
not  say,  "I  will  start  low,  and  accustom 
myself  gradually  to  the  height!"  Point 
thine  earliest  arrow  for  the  farthest  flight. 
Seek  God  in  Thy  morning!  Let  no  finite 
model  be  thy  guide  to  heaven  ;  follow  Christ ! 


248        Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

Measure  not  thy  standard  by  Plato,  by 
Socrates,  by  Moses ;  follow  Christ !  Take 
not  thy  pattern  from  angel  or  archangel, 
from  cherub  or  seraph  ;  follow  Christ !  Say 
not,  "I  will  try  to  imitate  one  whom  I  can 
reach ;  one  who  is  not  too  far  beyond  the 
stretch  of  my  hand !  "  Imitate  the  ^^^^reach- 
able  ;  follow  Christ !  Thou  shalt  never  reach 
thy  goal — not  in  myriad  flights  of  thy  wing ; 
He  will  ever  be  before  thee.  But  that  will  be 
thy  glory.  Thine  will  be  an  eternal  model. 
It  would  be  no  glory  to  come  up  to  thine 
ideal.  Aspiration  would  die ;  the  wings  would 
lose  their  power  of  flight — thy  strength  is  the 
unattainableness  of  thy  goal.  Men  speak  of 
the  everlasting  hills  ;  what  thou  needest  is 
rather  an  everlasting  climbing — a  hill  whose 
summit  thou  canst  see,  but  canst  never  gain. 
Christ  is  that  hill  of  holiness.  His  summit 
will  be  as  far  from  thee  at  evening  as  at 
morning ;  but  the  climbing  is  itself  the  goal. 
They  that  seek  Him  will  find  an  eternal 
forerunner ;  seek  Him  early,  O  my  soul ! 


THE   RETROSPECTIVE   REVELATION. 

"  Thine  ears  shall  hear  a  word  behind  thee,  saying,  This  is 
the  way,  walk  ye  in  it,  when  ye  turn  to  the  right  hand,  and 
when  ye  turn  to  the  left."— Isaiah  xxx.  21. 

Imagine  you  were  told  that  a  revelation 
from  God  was  about  to  be  given  you,  and  that 
you  must  keep  your  eyes  alert  for  its  coming, 
you  would  begin  to  look  in  different  directions. 
You  would  first  look  above  to  see  if  there  was 
any  sign  of  an  opened  heaven.  Then  you 
would  look  in  front  in  search  of  a  premonition 
of  the  future.  Then  you  would  "  turn  to  the 
right  hand,  and  to  the  left" — to  read  the 
traces  of  a  present  Providence.  But  there 
would  be  one  direction  in  which  you  would 
never  dream  of  turning ;  you  would  never 
think  of  looking  "behind  you."  You  would 
say  "  I  have  been  over  all  that  road  already, 
and  have  w^/ heard  a  voice  from  God."     ^^d 


2$o        Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

yet  the  prophet  says  that  this  rejected  quarter 
is  to  be  the  favoured  spot  of  revelation.  Not 
from  the  sky,  not  from  the  future,  not  from 
the  passing  scene,  is  the  revelation  to  come. 
It  is  to  come  from  the  past — from  the  road 
you  have  already  traversed.  At  the  very 
moment  when  you  are  looking  to  the  right 
hand  and  to  the  left  you  will  hear  a  voice 
"  behind  you,''  and  its  message  will  be : 
"This  is  the  way,  walk  ye  in  it.*'  What  is 
this  voice  that  comes  from  so  unexpected  a 
quarter?  It  is  conscience.  Conscience  is 
ever  the  voice  "  behind  you."  It  does  not 
accompany  your  deed  of  sin ;  it  comes  when 
you  have  left  your  sin  in  the  background. 
You  only  hear  it  when  you  are  half-way  up 
the  hill.  You  do  not  meet  it  in  your  valley — 
in  your  actual  badness.  It  reaches  your  ear 
when  you  have  begun  to  climb.  It  does  not 
echo  your  strain  of  blasphemy,  but  your  song 
of  purity.  The  memories  of  conscience  are 
only  stirred  under  the  shadow  of  the  hill  of 
God. 

My  soul,  whither  art  thou  climbing  ?  Is  it 
to  tracks  unknown,  to  lands  untrodden  ?  No  ; 
it   is   to   thine  own  yesterday.     Never  canst 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.         251 

thou  know  what  thou  art  to-day  until  thou 
hast  reached  to-morrow.  In  the  hours  of  thy 
sin  there  is  a  voice  of  thy  God  speaking  ;  but 
it  reaches  not  thine  ear.  It  is  saying  to  thee, 
"  Thou  art  wrong  ! " — *'  Thou  art  erring  !  " — 
"  Thou  art  wandering  from  the  way  !  " — but 
in  that  hour  it  is  not  heard  by  thee.  Thou 
shalt  hear  it  when  the  hour  is  past.  Thou 
shalt  hear  it  when  thou  hast  bid  thy  sin 
good-bye.  Thou  shalt  hear  it  when  thou  hast 
left  the  valley  behind  and  art  climbing  the 
mount  of  holiness.  In  that  higher  moment 
the  thunder  will  roll  and  the  lightning  gleam 
and  the  terrors  of  Sinai  be  revealed.  To-day 
will  speak  to  thee  when  it  has  become  yester- 
day. When  thou  hearest  that  voice,  be  not 
dismayed  by  its  roughness  !  Remember,  it  is 
thy  purified  ear  that  hears  it.  It  speaks  to 
thy  new  self,  to  thy  better  self.  It  is  a 
thunder  which  says,  "This  is  my  beloved 
son."  It  is  a  noise  that  is  audible  because  of 
thy  calm.  It  is  a  speck  that  is  visible  because 
of  thy  clearness.  It  is  a  pain  that  is  ex- 
perienced because  of  thy  quickened  body. 
The  remorse  of  conscience  is  a  voice  "  behmd 
thee." 


THE    CURE    WHICH    WAS    ONLY 
PARTIAL. 

"The  blind  man  looked  up,  and  said,  I  see  men  as  trees, 
walking.  After  that  He  put  His  hands  upon  his  eyes  ;  and  he 
saw  every  man  clearly." — Mark  viii.  24,  25. 

And  so  Christ  made  an  abortive  effort ! 
Surely  this  is  a  startling  supposition  !  Why 
should  the  first  experiment  have  failed  of  full 
success,  have  revealed  only  "  men  like  trees, 
walking "  !  I  could  understand  a  human 
operator  falling  short  of  perfection  in  his  first 
attempt,  but  not  Jesus.  Why  should  not  His 
mandate,  "Let  there  be  light!"  have  been 
followed  by  an  instantaneous  clearness  of 
vision  ?  Because  an  instantaneous  clearness 
was  not  desirable.  Christ's  imperfect  cure 
was  not  a  failure ;  it  was  part  of  the  plan. 
If  I  could  restore  the  sight  of  a  blind  man,  I 
would,  in  his  interest,  do  it  at  the  evening 


Lea\'es  for  Quiet  Hours.         253 

time.  I  should  fear  the  effect  of  an  immediate 
transition  from  dense  darkness  to  full  light. 
Too  much  light  may  have  the  same  effect  as 
too  little  ;  it  may  unfit  the  eye  for  its  environ- 
ment. This  restraint  of  revelation  on  Christ's 
part  was  an  exceeding  kindness.  Nowhere  in 
this  act  did  His  love  shine  so  conspicuously 
as  in  the  moderatio7t  of  His  power.  He  felt 
that  for  this  man  the  light  must  come  at 
evening  time.  Daylight  would  appal  him, 
overwhelm  him,  paralyse  him — would  undo 
the  cure  at  the  moment  of  its  accomplishment. 
There  must  for  him  be  a  twilight  experience. 
The  angel  of  light  must  descend  at  the  setting 
of  the  sun.  Not  in  full-orbed  splendour  must 
the  vision  burst  upon  his  view,  but  slowly, 
gently,  step  by  step,  till  the  eye  has  been 
trained  to  its  surroundings,  and  the  heart  has 
been  acclimatised  to  the  new  glory. 

Even  so,  O  Lord,  Thou  openest  the  eye  of 
my  spirit !  Thou  hast  not  granted  me  a 
revelation  of  the  full-orbed  glory.  Thou  hast 
unveiled  my  sight  only  at  the  setting  sun ; 
Thou  hast  said,  "  At  the  eveniug-time  there 
shall  be  light ! "  I  thank  Thee  for  this  first 
imperfect  vision.     The  full  day  would  be  too 


254         Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

much  for  me.  Thou  hast  many  things  to  tell 
me  which  I  could  not  bear  as  yet.  How 
many  things  which,  in  manhood,  are  my 
glory  would,  in  youth,  have  been  my  sorrow  ! 
I  bless  Thee  that  Thou  hast  trained  me  by 
twilight.  If  I  saw  the  sudden  splendour  of 
the  meridian  sun,  I  might  cry  out  with  horror. 
Thine  ideal  of  heaven  might  not  yet  be  mine. 
Mine  may  be  still  a  Mohammedan  paradise. 
I  may  not  be  ready  to  see  the  Cross  in  the 
midst  of  Thy  streets  of  gold.  I  may  not  be 
ready  to  behold  the  Lamb  of  sacrifice  in  the 
midst  of  the  sapphire  throne.  I  may  not  be 
ready  to  accept  the  serv^ant's  form  as  the 
climax  of  heavenly  glory.  Therefore  I  am 
glad  that  so  softly  Thou  art  lifting  the  veil. 
I  am  glad  that  to  me  the  evening  has  come 
before  the  morning.  I  am  glad  that  the  first 
opening  of  the  eyes  has  been  so  partial,  so 
incomplete.  I  am  glad  that  from  the  summit 
of  my  Pisgah  I  have  not  a  full  vision  of  the 
promised  land.  I  thank  Thee,  O  Lord,  for 
the  mist  upon  the  hill. 


THE    GLORY    OF    CANA'S    MIRACLE. 

*' Jesus  saith  unto  her,  Mine  hour  is  not  yet  come.  This 
beginning  of  miracles  did  Jesus  in  Cana  of  Galilee,  and  mani- 
fested forth  His  glory."— John  ii.  4  and  11. 

How  shall  we  reconcile  these  statements ! 
Jesus  felt  that  His  hour  in  Cana  was  beneath 
His  destiny — that  He  had  come  into  the  world 
for  a  higher  end ;  and  yet  it  is  declared  that 
the  miracle  manifested  His  glory.  How  ex- 
plain this  discrepancy !  There  is  no  dis- 
crepancy, there  is  a  beautiful  harmony.  The 
hour  was  certainly  inadequate  to  express 
Christ's  glory.  He  had  a  far  bigger  work  to 
do  than  the  satisfying  of  a  festive  moment — 
a  larger  mission  than  the  brightening  of  a 
social  throng.  But  do  you  not  see  that  this 
stooping  beneath  His  own  glory  is  the  very 
thing  that  makes  Him  glorious.  The  miracle 
of  Cana  was  a  sacrifice  on  the  part  of  Jesus. 


256        Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

It  was  a  diversion  from  the  main  line.  It 
drew  Him  out  of  His  road.  It  engaged  His 
great  powers  on  an  obscure  work — a  deed  of 
simple  domestic  kindness  whose  range  would 
be  very  limited,  and  which  the  outside  world 
would  never  see.  To  pass  from  His  own  great 
hour  into  that  trivial  hour,  to  bend  from  the 
mountain  to  the  valley,  to  interest  Himself  in 
what  was  interesting  only  to  another — this 
was  a  sacrifice.  And  the  sacrifice  was  the 
glory.  "  He  pleased  not  Himself."  His  eye 
was  on  the  height,  but  He  averted  it  to  the 
plain.  He  put  Himself  in  the  place  of  those 
who  had  nothing  in  common  with  Him.  He 
tried  to  figure  the  world,  not  as  He  saw  it,  but 
as  /  see  it.  He  looked  at  the  deficiency  of 
wine  from  my  point  of  view.  The  power  to 
do  this  was  the  real  miracle ;  it  was  this  that 
manifested  His  glory. 

Lord  of  the  marriage  feast,  grant  me  this 
power!  1  have  often  reached  great  un- 
selfishness in  a  cause  dear  to  my  own  heart ; 
I  have  toiled  for  it  without  murmuring.  But 
if  an  interruption  came,  if  another  asked  me 
to  help  outside  my  own  mission,  I  have  met 
the  request  with  impatience.     I  need  an  hour 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.         257 

of  Cana — an  hour  of  Thy  marriage  feast.  I 
deem  my  own  mission  to  be  the  wine  of  life, 
my  brother's  mission  to  be  only  the  water. 
Help  me  to  see  the  water  as  wine  !  Help  me 
to  live  for  one  moment  in  my  brother's  soul! 
Help  me  for  one  hour  to  measure  the  things 
of  life  with  his  eyes  !  Doubtless  I  have  far 
surpassed  the  marriage  feast  of  Cana ;  I  have 
left  it  out  of  sight  behind.  But  give  me  a 
microscope  by  which  I  may  see  it  again ! 
Give  me  the  microscope  of  sympathy!  Put 
me  in  that  light  where  my  brother's  little 
things  will  be  magnified !  Show  me  that 
Cana  is  still  to  him  as  large  as  Jerusalem  is 
now  to  me!  Remind  me  that  yesterday  Cana 
was  as  large  to  me  as  it  now  is  to  him !  Send 
me  back  to  my  yesterday  I  Send  me  back  to 
my  surmounted  hour !  Send  me  back  to  the 
days  when  I  spoke  as  a  child,  understood  as  a 
child,  thought  as  a  child !  Send  me  back  to 
the  toys  I  have  broken,  to  the  pleasures  I  have 
outgrown,  to  the  occupations  I  have  become 
weary  of;  let  them  all  live  again  in  the  in- 
terest for  another  !  I  may  retrace  the  steps  of 
my  onward  march  ;  but  the  hour  of  retrace- 
ment  will  be  an  hour  of  glory. 


THE    SECRET    OF    GOOD    HEALTH. 

'*  I  wish,  above  all  things,  that  thou  mayest  be  in  health  as 
thy  soul  prospereth.  "—John  hi.  2. 

There  is  a  very  strong  connection  between 
the  health  of  the  body  and  the  health  of 
the  soul.  One  side  of  the  connection  is 
universally  recognised;  we  all  feel  that  the 
body  has  an  influence  on  the  mind.  But 
we  are  less  prone  to  recognise  the  other 
side — that  the  mind  has  an  influence  on  the 
health  of  the  body.  Yet  it  is  this  latter 
connection  that  St.  John  specially  empha- 
sizes. He  would  seem  to  suggest  that  the 
larger  number  of  our  physical  troubles  have 
their  root  in  something  mental,  just  as  the 
larger  number  of  our  mental  troubles  have 
their  root  in  something  physical.  I  believe 
he  is  right  in  this.  I  think  that  the  majority 
of  outward  ailments  originate  in  the  thoughts. 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.         259 

How  did  you  catch  cold  yesterday?  "By 
standing  in  a  draught,"  you  say.  But  you 
stood  in  the  same  draught  the  day  before 
and  got  no  hurt.  "Ah,  but,"  you  say,  "I 
was  predisposed  to  cold  yesterday;  before 
coming  out  I  got  a  letter  which  chilled  me." 
There  it  is!  the  draught  came  not  from  the 
street  corner,  but  from  the  anxious  moment. 
There  are  times  when  we  can  pass  through 
the  fiery  furnace,  unharmed  —  it  is  in 
moments  of  mental  enthusiasm.  Men  tell 
us  that  the  dread  of  the  pestilence  exposes 
us  to  its  contagion.  Why?  Because  fear 
is  the  mind's  paralysis.  You  would  be 
equally  liable  to  that  pestilence  if  you  were 
in  dread  of  a  different  one.  If  there  is  a 
cloud  over  the  mind,  it  can  rest  on  one 
valley  as  easily  as  on  another.  The  dread 
of  life  is  as  liable  to  the  pestilence  as  the 
dread  of  death.  If  I  would  pass  scathless 
by,  I  must  pass  by  on  the  uplands.  I  must 
be  free,  not  from  any  special  fear,  but  from 
fear  itself. 

Lord,  let  me  take  Thy  prescription  for 
perpetual  youth!  I  desire  to  have  the  eye 
undimmed  and  the  natural  strength  unabated; 


26o        Leaves  for  Quiet  Hoxjrs. 

place  me  on  Mount  Nebo,  show  me  the  Pro- 
mised Land  !  Often  have  I  thought  of  Thy 
words,  "Hast  thou  faith  to  be  healed?" 
Human  physicians  would  have  said,  **The 
body  first  and  the  mind  afterwards/'  Not 
so  Thou.  To  Thee  the  root  of  the  body's 
cure  is  the  spirit's  wing.  Thou  takest  the 
invalid  to  the  Mount  before  Thou  healest 
him.  Take  me  to  the  Mount,  O  Lord !  I 
have  long  outward  marches  to  make;  how 
shall  I  prepare  for  them  ?  Shall  I  practise 
the  movement  of  the  feet  ?  Shall  I  inure 
myself  to  fatigue  by  long  stretches  of  walk- 
ing? Nay,  that  is  not  Thy  method  for  me. 
Not  by  my  walking,  but  by  my  flying,  wilt 
Thou  prepare  me — not  by  the  body's  labour, 
but  by  the  spirit's  song.  Thou  art  calling 
my  soul  to  the  hills,  my  heart  to  the  home 
of  the  morning.  If  my  heart  is  on  the  hill, 
my  feet  will  not  slide  in  the  valley;  if  my 
soul  is  in  the  song,  my  body  will  not  bend  to 
the  dust.  Give  me  the  lark  before  the  labour, 
the  mount  before  the  mire,  the  joy  before  the 
jostling,  the  wing  before  the  winter,  the 
clarion  before  the  cloud  !  The  secret  of  my 
health  will  be  the  prospering  of  my  soul. 


THE    COMFORT    TN    DIVINE 
RETRIBUTION. 

"  You  only  have  I  known  of  all  the  families  of  the  earth  ; 
therefore  I  will  punish  you  for  all  your  iniquities.**— Amos 
III.  2. 

This  is  to  my  mind,  the  most  un-Jewish 
utterance  in  the  whole  course  of  the  Old 
Testament.  It  is  like  a  summer  day  shining 
in  the  heart  of  winter.  I  am  told  that  to 
shepherds  on  the  plains  of  Bethlehem  the 
sun  shone  out  at  midnight.  So  is  it  here. 
We  have  an  anticipation  of  the  day  in  the 
midst  of  night ;  the  lark  sings  at  evening. 
The  common  opinion  of  the  world  previous 
to  Christ  is  that  punishment  is  a  mark  of 
alienation  from  Divine  love.  Here  it  is  said 
to  be  the  contrary.  It  is  indicated  that  if 
the  family  of  Israel  had  been  less  dear  to 
God  it  would  have  received  less  chastisement. 


262        Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

God  chastises  the  children  of  Israel  because 
He  knows  them — knows  that  they  are  worth 
chastising.  His  infliction  of  punishment  is, 
in  fact,  rather  prospective  than  retrospective. 
It  points  not  so  much  back  to  the  expia- 
tion of  a  past  deed  as  forward  to  the 
realising  of  a  future  glory.  "Every  branch 
that  beareth  fruit,  He  purgeth  it,  that  it  may 
bring  forth  more  fruit'' — the  pruning  of  the 
vine  is  more  for  the  sake  of  to-morrow  than 
for  the  sake  of  yesterday.  The  keynote  of 
dawning  Christianity  is  the  keynote  of  modern 
jurisprudence — punishment  for  the  sake  of 
reformation.  Nothing  proves  your  immortality 
like  your  retributions.  It  would  not  be  worth 
while  to  punish  a  dying  man.  If  you  knew 
that  your  enemy  would  be  dead  in  a  week  I 
feel  sure  you  would  let  him  go  in  peace.  So 
would  your  Father  do  with  you  if  you  were 
not  an  immortal ;  He  would  let  you  sing  in 
the  sunshine  after  you  have  waked  the  storm. 
It  is  because  you  are  an  immortal  that  He 
will  not  let  you  go.  It  is  because  you  have 
eternity  in  your  heart  that  He  exacts  from 
you  the  tribute  of  the  hour. 

My  soul,  faint  not  when  thou  art  rebuked 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.         263 

of  thy  Father! — it  proves  thine  immortality. 
Even  the  rewards  of  thy  Father  do  not  prove 
thine  immortality  like  His  penalties.  It  is 
natural  to  speak  kindly  to  a  dying  man.  If 
thy  days  were  to  be  few  thou  wouldst  have 
more  sun,  less  cloud.  It  is  because  thy  days 
are  to  be  long  in  the  land  that  there  are  given 
thee  so  many  commandments,  so  many  penal- 
ties for  breaking  them.  Sometimes  thy 
penalty  exceeds  thy  sin.  It  is  because  thy 
penalty  is  not  meant  for  thy  sin  so  much 
as  for  thee.  Less  would  suffice  to  cleanse 
thy  past ;  but  it  is  thy  future  that  must  be 
cleansed.  Thy  pain  is  sent  for  to-morrow, 
not  for  yesterday.  God  told  Cain  that  the 
mark  He  had  set  upon  him  would  keep  him 
from  being  killed.  So  is  it  with  the  mark  on 
thy  conscience — the  wound  called  remorse. 
It  is  thy  Father  s  sign  of  thine  immortality. 
No  perishable  life  could  have  shown  such  a 
wound.  It  is  too  big  to  be  inflicted  for  the 
sake  of  time.  It  is  the  imprint  of  thine 
eternity.  It  is  the  scar  that  tells,  not  of 
death,  but  of  deathlessness.  It  is  that  print 
of  the  nails  which  attests  thy  resurrection  life. 
Faint  not  beneath  thy  pain,  O  my  soul ! 


THE    FIRST    HEREDITARY 
TRANSMISSION. 

"  Cain  was  of  that  wicked  one  ;  his  own  works  were  evil  and 
his  brother's  righteous."— i  John  hi.  12. 

Cain  and  Abel  illustrate  the  first  operation 
of  the  law  of  heredity.  The  two  brothers 
represent  the  men  of  the  second  generation. 
They  are  described  as  the  first  children  of 
fallen  humanity,  and  as  born  after  its  fall.  In 
these  circumstances  we  should  expect  both  to 
be  bad.  But  they  are  not ;  one  is  bad  and 
the  other  is  good.  Why  is  this  ?  The  parents 
are  both  fallen — equally  fallen.  Where  does 
Abel  come  from  .?  We  have  no  difficulty  with 
the  pedigree  of  Cain.  He  is  the  fruit  proper 
to  the  tree — the  fruit  of  sin.  But  what  is 
Abel's  pedigree  ?  He  cannot  be  the  fruit  of 
sin  ;  he  is  righteous,  holy.  Where  did  he  get 
his  holiness  ?     Is  he  not  a  violation  of  that 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.         265 

principle  by  which  like  produces  like  ?  No  : 
the  old  narrative  is  beautifully  consistent. 
You  forget  that  according  to  the  story,  the 
parents  had  lived  in  two  worlds — heaven  and 
earth.  Before  they  tasted  the  tree  of  sin  they 
had  gazed  on  the  tree  of  life.  And  because 
they  had  lived  in  two  worlds  they  transmitted 
two  worlds  ;  they  transmitted  earth  to  Cain, 
heaven  to  Abel.  They  transmitted  heaven 
though  they  had  lost  it,  forgotten  it.  We 
transmit  a  thousand  things  which  we  have 
lost  and  forgotten  ;  and,  thank  God,  they  are 
not  all  bad !  A  man  may  live  well  for  years, 
and  then  forget  all  his  virtues  ;  Nero  did. 
Yet  the  good  years  will  not  count  for  nothing 
with  his  posterity,  even  though  that  posterity 
should  have  come  after  his  forgetfulness. 
There  will  be  Abels  among  them — men  of  the 
first  tree,  the  good  tree.  If  Adam  has  ever 
been  in  Eden  his  progeny  will  reap  the  fruit 
of  it  though  they  be  born  long  after  the 
cherubim  and  the  flaming  sword  have  barred 
the  way  to  the  tree  of  life. 

My  soul,  I  have  heard  thy  complainings ; 
I  have  heard  thee  murmuring  against  the 
cruelty  of  thine  environment.     I  have  heard 


266        Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

thee  say,  "  Am  I  not  a  child  of  Adam  and 
have  I  not  received  from  Adam  a  fallen 
nature  ?  '*  Yes,  and  an  unfallen  nature,  too. 
Never  forget  in  thy  complainings  that  thou 
art  the  heir  to  two  worlds — not  one  !  Doubt- 
less there  has  been  transmitted  to  thee  the 
life  of  the  sinful  Cain — but  not  that  alone. 
Abel  also  has  come  down  to  thee — the  life  of 
Paradise  is  in  thy  blood.  Not  alone  the 
sweat  of  the  brow  is  thy  heritage ;  not  alone 
the  degradation  of  the  dark  is  thy  portion. 
One  half  thy  heredity  is  from  Eden.  Thine 
eye  has  been  kindled  by  the  ancestral  gaze  at 
the  tree  of  life.  Thine  ear  has  been  tuned  by 
the  ancestral  hearing  of  the  Voice  in  the 
garden.  Thy  taste  has  been  ennobled  by  the 
ancestral  sight  of  the  rivers  of  Paradise.  Thy 
sense  of  God  has  been  quickened  by  the 
ancestral  communings  with  Nature  in  the 
cool  of  the  day.  Thy  friendships  have  been 
deepened  by  the  ancestral  marriage  tie.  Thy 
hope  has  been  helped  to  soar  by  the  ancestral 
listening  to  the  Sabbath  bells.  The  image  of 
thy  God  was  born  with  thee ;  it  was  only 
broken  by  an  accident.  Why  should  the  acci- 
dent be  more  transmittable  than  the  germ  ! 


THE    CURE    OF    MORAL   IGNORANCE. 

"The  heavens  declare  the  glory  of  God.  Day  unto  day 
uttereth  speech,  and  night  unto  night  showeth  knowledge.  Who 
can  understand  his  errors  ?"— Psalm  XIX.  i,  2,  12. 

What  a  strange  assertion,  of  knowledge  on 
the  one  hand  and  of  ignorance  on  the  other  ! 
Here  is  a  claim  to  knowledge  in  a  sphere 
where  we  should  expect  a  confession  of  mys- 
tery ;  here  is  a  confession  of  mystery  in  a 
region  where  we  should  look  for  perfect  light ! 
The  Psalmist  declares  that  he  understands 
the  heavens^  but  he  says  that  he  does  not  per- 
ceive the  errors  of  his  own  soul !  He  has 
daily  and  nightly  converse  with  the  stars,  but 
he  hears  not  the  voice  of  his  own  sin !  Yet 
the  stars  are  far  away ;  his  sin  is  at  the  door. 
Why  should  the  revelation  of  God's  majesty 
precede  the  revelation  of  the  disorder  within 
himself?     Why  should  a  man  be  able  to  learn 


268         Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

astronomy  before  he  can  learn  the  pervading 
sinfulness  of  his  heart  ?  It  is  because  the 
vision  of  beauty  must  precede  the  vision  of 
deformity.  How  do  I  learn  what  disorder  is  ? 
It  is  by  first  learning  order.  I  cannot  know 
discord  till  I  have  studied  harmony.  No 
man  is  driven  to  the  songs  of  heaven  by  the 
discordant  notes  of  earth ;  he  discerns  the 
jarring  notes  of  earth  by  hearing  the  songs 
of  heaven.  He  that  is  born  sightless  cannot 
figure  the  sun,  but  he  that  can  figure  the  sun 
can  understand  him  who  is  born  sightless.  I 
learn  my  errors  —  my  wanderings  from  the 
way,  by  learning  that  there  ts  a  way.  When 
I  find  that  there  is  an  orbit  for  the  life  of 
every  star,  I  see  that  my  life  has  wandered. 

O  Lord,  teach  me  my  errors  !  Thou  alone 
canst  give  me  that  knowledge.  No  amount 
of  sin  can  do  it,  no  contact  with  Satan  can 
do  it ;  it  can  only  come  from  contact  with 
Thee.  My  sight  will  never  be  offended  when 
it  meets  unlovely  things  unless  it  has  seen 
Thy  beauty.  Mine  ear  will  never  be  fretted 
when  it  meets  disharmony  until  it  hears  Thy 
music.  Not  by  contemplating  how  badly  my 
work  is  done  shall  I  understand  my  errors. 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.         269 

I  must  contemplate  a  perfect  work.  There- 
fore it  is  that  before  all  things  Thou  hast 
said,  "  Come  unto  Me."  Thou  hast  not  said, 
"  Go  and  study  your  miserable  workmanship ; 
go  and  see  how  poor  it  looks  in  retrospect." 
No,  Thou  hast  called  me  to  contemplate  the 
highest  model— the  work  without  a  flaw.  Thou 
hast  led  me  first,  not  into  the  gallery  of  earth, 
but  into  the  gallery  of  heaven.  Thou  hast 
fixed  my  earliest  gaze  on  the  perfect  picture 
—  on  the  supreme  beauty.  Instead  of  leading 
me  through  the  miry  clay.  Thou  hast  led  me 
through  the  green  pastures  and  by  the  quiet 
waters.  Thou  hast  made  my  first  walk  a 
walk  round  about  Jerusalem.  Not  by  the 
narrowness  of  lane  and  alley  hast  Thou 
taught  me  my  limits.  Thou  hast  showed  me 
Thy  spacious  palaces — Thy  house  with  many 
mansions.  Thou  hast  made  my  morning 
view  a  view  of  the  city  of  gold  ;  therefore  it  is 
that  at  midday  I  have  recognised  my  brass. 
I  can  only  understand  my  errors  by  the  light 
of  heaven. 


THE    TESTED    REFUGE. 

*'  The  Lord  hear  thee  in  the  day  of  trouble  ;  the  name  of  the 
God  of  Jacob  defend  thee." — Psalm  xx.  i. 

"The  name  of  the  God  of  Jacob"!  I 
thought  that  was  the  very  thing  which  was 
not  revealed!  I  thought  the  angel  that 
struggled  with  Jacob  refused  to  give  his 
name!  Yes,  but  he  gave  his  blessing.  He 
left  behind  him  something  by  which  he 
could  be  distinguished  from  all  other  pre- 
sences— something  which  marked  out  his 
identity  from  all  beside.  It  is  this,  I  think, 
which  the  Psalmist  here  takes  hold  of.  I 
understand  him  to  mean :  "  May  your 
religious  refuge  in  trouble  be  no  party  cry, 
no  special  Church,  no  sectarian  name !  May 
it  be  precisely  that  which  you  cannot  name, 
which  you  can  only  feel!  May  your  name 
for  God  be  *  the  God  of  Jacob  * — the  God  who 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.         271 

in  the  struggle  of  a  human  soul  sent  a  bless- 
ing through  the  pain — the  God  who  gave 
power  through  a  shrunk  sinew  and  strength 
by  halting  on  the  thigh  !  "  That  is  what  I 
take  the  Psalmist  to  mean.  And  truly  it  is 
the  only  kind  of  refuge  that  will  do  for  a 
**day  of  trouble" — for  the  time  when  the 
trouble  remains.  It  is  only  the  God  of  Jacob 
that  gives  strength  in  trouble.  The  God  of 
Abraham  and  the  God  of  Isaac  give  strength 
by  taking  trouble  away — Abraham  gets  back 
his  son,  Isaac  renews  his  wells.  But  the 
blessing  of  Jacob  comes  in  his  calamity — 
comes  by  the  very  touch  that  lames  him. 
The  struggle  itself  is  his  blessing — not  the 
cessation  of  the  struggle.  The  angel  that 
wrestles  with  him  is,  in  the  very  act  of  wrest- 
ling, a  herald  of  the  dawn.  The  day  is 
breaking  just  where  Jacob's  heart  is  breaking. 
His  is  a  refuge,  not  from  the  flood,  but  in  the 
flood.  All  former  men  are  saved  by  rescue : 
Enoch  escapes  death,  Noah  survives  the  waters. 
But  Jacob  is  saved  in  the  waters ;  he  is  sup- 
ported in  the  fnidsi  of  the  storm  ;  he  ascends 
through  the  medium  of  his  chariot  of  fire. 

May  the  God  of  Jacob  be  ?ny  refuge !     The 
angel  I  need  is  a  strengthening  angel — my 


2*j2         Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

Lord's  Gethsemane  angel.  It  is  not  often 
now  that  an  angel  rolls  away  the  actual 
stone;  the  calamities  of  life  are  not,  in  my 
day,  miraculously  lifted.  But  still  there 
remains  a  defence  for  me — the  name  of  the 
God  of  Jacob.  The  strength  of  Gethsem^ane 
is  not  dead.  The  place  where  Jacob  stood, 
the  place  where  Jesus  stood,  is  waiting  for 
me  still.  Still  can  I  find  the  nameless 
strength,  the  incomprehensible  peace.  Still 
can  I  drain  the  cup  and  not  faint ;  still  can 
I  bear  the  cross  and  not  die.  I  cannot  say 
that  m}'-  Father  will  avert  the  cup ;  I  cannot 
say  that  my  Father  will  remove  the  cup ;  but 
I  can  always  say  that  my  Father  will  make 
the  cup  tolerable.  Not  always  can  I  repair 
to  the  God  of  Abraham — ask  exemption  from 
the  wood  and  the  fire.  But  ever  can  I  repair 
to  the  God  of  Jacob.  Ever  can  I  ask  a  voice 
from  the  burning  bush — the  voice  that  forbids 
it  to  be  consumed.  Ever  can  I  claim  the 
peace  in  pain,  the  rest  in  wrestling,  the  calm 
in  conflict.  Ever  can  I  expect  the  bow  in 
the  midst  of  the  cloud,  the  bread  in  the  depth 
of  the  desert,  the  garden  by  the  side  of  the 
tombstone.  These  are  the  miracles  of  the 
God  of  Jacob. 


THE    FIRST    CHARTER    OF 
WOMANHOOD. 

"The  Lord  God  caused  a  deep  sleep  to  fall  upon  Adam,  and 
he  slept ;  and  He  took  one  of  his  ribs ;  and  the  rib  made  He  a 
woman.  And  Adam  said,  *  This  is  now  bone  of  my  bones,  and 
flesh  of  my  flesh." — Genesis  ii.  21-23. 

Where  did  this  scene  occur  ?  In  the  outer 
world  ?  I  do  not  think  the  narrative  wishes 
us  to  take  that  view.  I  understand  the  writer 
to  say  that  Adam  had  a  dream.  The  word 
here  rendered  "  a  deep  sleep "  elsewhere 
means  "a  vision  of  the  night."  I  would 
paraphrase  the  narrative  thus  :  "  Adam  slept ; 
and  as  he  slept,  God  caused  a  vision  of  the 
night  to  pass  before  him.  In  that  vision  it 
seemed  to  him  as  if  a  rib  were  taken  from 
his  body  by  the  hand  of  the  Lord.  And  as  he 
looked  at  the  separated  member,  it  appeared 
to  take  form  and   grow,   until  it  assumed  a 


274        Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

shape  of  great  beauty.  And  as  he  looked  at 
that  form,  lo !  it  was  the  very  woman  who 
had  been  by  his  side  from  the  beginning, 
but  whom  he  had  hitherto  despised!  And 
Adam  said,  From  this  time  forth  I  will 
despise  her  no  more ;  I  will  give  her  the 
dignity  I  have  denied  her ;  she  is  now,  from 
this  time  forth,  bone  of  my  bone  and  flesh  of 
my  flesh.''  Such  I  take  to  be  the  narrative. 
It  is  not,  as  people  think,  an  account  of 
woman's  creation.  It  is  rather  the  first  record 
of  her  marriage — the  earliest  assertion  of  her 
equality  with  man.  This  is  not  the  day  of 
her  birth ;  it  is  the  day  of  her  nuptials — the 
hour  when  man  recognised  her  to  be  a  part 
of  his  own  life  and  a  sharer  of  his  own 
fortunes. 

I  thank  Thee,  O  Father,  for  this  first  dream 
of  the  human  heart !  Thou  trainest  the  heart 
by  its  dreams  as  much  as  by  its  actions.  I 
thank  Thee  that  its  first  dream  was  a  dream 
of  chivalry.  I  bless  Thee  that  the  primitive 
thought  of  man's  fancy  was,  not  the  river  of 
Paradise,  not  the  trees  of  the  garden,  not 
even  the  birds  of  the  air — lofty  though  be 
their  flight,  but  the   love  of  home   and   the 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.  275 

home  of  love.  I  praise  Thy  name  that  the 
earliest  imaginings  saw  woman  as  the  equal, 
not  the  slave.  In  sleep  or  waking  Thou  hast 
sent  no  lovelier  vision  to  the  soul.  Not  a 
bower  of  Eden  has  so  green  a  memory  as 
that  oldest  dream.  It  is  the  only  leaf  which 
we  have  carried  unsullied  from  Thy  garden. 
It  has  consecrated  our  hearth;  it  has  wreathed 
our  domestic  altar ;  it  has  beautified  our 
home ;  it  has  hallowed  our  family  tree ;  it 
has  made  our  fireside ;  it  has  enthroned 
motherhood ;  it  has  softened  society ;  it  has 
bettered  morals.  Send  forth  that  dream 
again,  O  Lord !  Send  it  into  every  forest 
primeval,  into  every  heart  of  uncultured  man ! 
Send  it  wherever  the  male  claims  monopoly! 
Let  it  break  the  power  of  the  zenanas  ;  let 
it  repeal  the  caste  of  the  Brahman ;  let  it 
purify  the  paradise  of  the  Mohammedan ! 
Nay,  send  it  nearer  home — nearer  ourselves ! 
Lead  it  to  the  man  amongst  us  w^ho  forgets 
his  manhood — whose  hand  is  raised  to  strike 
the  weaker  frame !  Our  vaunted  culture  has 
not  outgrown  Thy  primitive  Eden;  quicken 
us  anew  by  man's  first  dream  1 


T  S 


THE    CONVICTION    OF    SIN. 

**  The  lion  of  the  tribe  of  Judah  hath  prevailed  to  open  the 
book,  and  to  loose  the  seven  seals  thereof."  —  Revelation 

A  LION  strong  enough  to  open  a  hook  !  That 
is  surely  an  anti-climax!  We  could  under- 
stand a  lion  strong  enough  to  rule  a  forest. 
We  could  understand  a  lion  strong  enough  to 
rend  its  prey.  But  to  open  a  book — that  is 
surely  a  very  easy  thing !  No,  not  this  book. 
This  book  has  seven  seals,  and  to  open  it  we 
need  the  courage  of  a  lion.  For,  what  ts  this 
sealed  writing  ?  It  is  the  moral  consciousness 
of  man.  To  open  the  book  is  to  tell  me  that 
I  am  a  sinner.  The  man  who  tells  me  that  is 
in  great  personal  danger.  You  may  accuse 
me  of  total  depravity  when  you  speak  from 
the  pulpit,  because  you  there  include  every- 
body else  in  the  accusation.  But  if  you  boldly 
turn  to  my  corner  and  say,  "  Here  is  a  man 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.         277 

who  has  not  been  exactly  upright  in  all  his 
dealings,"  you  must  have  a  lion  heart  indeed  ! 
I  am  certain  to  arraign  you,  to  impeach  you,  to 
charge  you  with  becoming  personal.  That 
was  where  Jesus  met  His  danger,  met  His 
death;  He  opened  the  book  of  each  individual 
heart.  He  did  not  merely  say,  "You  are  all 
sinners,"  that  would  not  have  lost  His 
audience  half  an  hour's  sleep!  He  made 
every  one  feel  "He  means  me!*'  He  made 
Judas  the  apostle  wince.  He  made  Simon 
the  Pharisee  cower.  He  made  Pilate  the 
governor  uncomfortable.  He  made  everyone 
say,  "  This  is  personal ! "  And  how  did  He 
do  it  ?  By  speaking  ?  Oh,  no — by  being. 
Why  has  nobody  opened  the  book  but  Jesus  ? 
Simply  because  nobody  has  been  pure  but 
Jesus.  You  will  never  tell  me  my  sins  by 
pointing  to  them  ;  you  must  point  away  from 
them.  Would  you  teach  me  my  avarice ;  you 
must  show  me  generosity.  Would  you  teach 
me  my  deceit ;  you  must  reveal  truthfulness. 
Would  you  teach  me  the  folly  of  my  pride ; 
you  must  display  the  dignity  of  being  humble. 
No  man  can  see  the  brass  till  his  eye  has 
rested  on  the  gold. 

Son  of  Man,  I  come  to  Thee  to  get  the  book 


278        Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

of  my  heart  opened;  what  was  once  Thine 
offence  is  now  Thy  glory.  It  is  only  by 
coming  to  Thee  that  I  shall  learn  my  sin. 
I  have  heard  men  say  that  before  I  come 
I  must  feel  my  need  of  Thee.  Nay,  it  is 
the  opposite ;  ere  I  can  feel  my  need  of  Thee 
I  must  come.  Thou  alone  canst  open  the 
book.  It  is  only  from  the  interior  of  the 
palace  that  I  can  see  the  miry  clay  of  the 
road  outside.  I  cannot  know  myself  until 
I  have  known  Thee.  Whence  has  Magdalene 
derived  the  mirror  of  herself?  From  the 
scenes  of  the  street  ?  From  the  sight  of  her 
moral  equals  ?  From  viewing  those  who  have 
descended  deeper  still  ?  Nay ;  it  is  from  a 
gaze  on  Thee.  It  is  in  Thy  face  she  first  sees 
her  own.  Thy  purity  is  the  mirror  of  her 
impurity.  She  never  sees  her  deformity  till 
she  beholds  Thy  beauty.  She  never  knows 
her  discord  till  she  hears  Thy  music.  She 
never  discerns  her  clouds  till  she  catches  Thy 
sunshine.  She  never  feels  her  burden  till  she 
finds  the  support  of  Thine  arm.  She  never 
experiences  the  pains  of  hell  till  she  looks  on 
the  joys  of  Thy  heaven.  Only  by  Thy  light  of 
holiness  can  I  read  the  tragedy  of  my  book 
of  life. 


THE    CHARM    OF    TRANQUILLITY. 

*'  He  maketh  the  storm  a  calm,  so  that  the  waves  thereof  are 
still.  Then  are  they  glad  because  they  be  quiet." — Psalm 
cvii.  29,  30. 

I  TAKE  the  idea  to  be  that  the  gladness  of 
quiet  is  only  felt  after  the  storm,  **  Then  are 
they  glad."  Men  become  glad  of  the  quiet 
hour  after  they  have  heard  the  roaring  of  the 
tempest.  The  stillness  before  the  storm  does 
not  make  us  glad.  There  is  a  stillness  before 
the  storm.  There  is  a  state  called  innocence. 
It  is  Adam  in  the  rustic  village — Adam  amid 
the  trees  of  the  garden.  I  was  quiet  there ; 
but  I  had  no  sense  of  quietude,  no  gladness 
in  being  quiet.  How  could  I,  when  I  knew 
not  the  meaning  of  noise  r  I  heard  not  the 
moaning  of  the  great  sea.  I  heard  not  the 
lashing  of  the  waves  upon  the  world's  shore. 
I  had  no  trembling;  but  I  had  as  little  trans- 


28o        Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

port.  The  stillness  of  the  night  can  bring  no 
joy  to  the  deaf-born.  Why  can  it  bring  them 
no  joy  ?  Because  it  has  never  been  broken. 
They  have  nothing  to  contrast  it  with.  They 
have  never  heard  the  storm  ;  therefore  they 
cannot  know  the  stillness.  So  was  it  with 
me  in  the  Garden.  But  one  day  I  strayed 
out  beyond  the  gate  and  lost  my  way.  And, 
as  I  wandered,  I  became  weary  and  hungry 
and  cold.  Then,  for  the  first  time,  the  Garden 
was  revealed.  I  said,  ^*  The  Lord  was  in  that 
place,  and  I  knew  it  not ;  how  glad  I  should 
be  to  get  back  there !  **  I  learned  the  still- 
ness by  the  storm ;  I  saw  the  glory  by  the 
gloom;  I  beheld  the  flowers  of  Paradise  by 
the  experience  of  Paradise  lost. 

My  soul,  hast  thou  considered  the  secret  of 
thy  rest  !  Hast  thou  considered  why  the 
Prince  of  Peace  began  by  walking  on  the 
sea !  It  is  because  thy  peace  needs  the  sea. 
An  unbroken  calm  could  never  have  been  a 
conscious  calm — a  calm  to  make  thee  glad. 
Thy  bow  demands  the  memory  of  a  cloud. 
Only  when  Christ  opened  thine  ear  to  the 
storin  did  He  open  thine  ear  to  the  stillness. 
It  is  not  enough  that  quietness  should  reign  ; 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.         281 

if  thou  art  to  be  at  rest,  thou  must  hear  that 
quietness.  It  must  come  to  thee  as  a  hiding- 
place  from  the  wind,  as  a  covert  from  the 
tempest.  The  charm  of  thy  quiet  hours  is 
the  remembrance  of  thy  restless  moments. 
Wouldst  thou  eliminate  the  cloud,  then  dost 
thou  destroy  the  bow.  Bless  thy  Father  for 
the  storm  of  yesterday  !  it  has  revealed  to 
thee  the  calmness  of  to-day.  It  has  made  the 
silence  a  joy  to  thee.  The  peace  of  the  still 
night  is  to  thine  opened  ear  no  longer  what 
it  was  to  the  deaf  mute.  To  him  it  was  a 
negation,  a  blank,  a  nothingness.  To  thee 
it  is  a  possession,  a  power,  a  vocal  presence 
— something  to  hear,  to  feel,  to  commune 
with.  What  has  made  the  difference?  It  is 
the  wings  of  the  wind ;  it  is  the  voice  of  the 
storm.  It  is  through  the  swelling  sea  the 
Father  has  led  thee  to  the  haven  ;  bless 
the  swelling  sea,  O  my  soul ! 


THE    PRIMAL    THING    WHICH 
SHOULD    BE    PERMANENT. 

"Thou  hast  left  thy  first  love."~REVELATiON  II.  4. 

There  are  three  sets  of  men  who  may  be 
said  to  be  under  a  cloud — the  sceptic,  the 
pessimist  and  the  cynic.  I  should  say  they 
represent  respectively  the  clouds  over  faith, 
hope  and  love.  Scepticism  is  the  cloud  over 
faith ;  pessimism  is  the  cloud  over  hope ; 
cynicism  is  the  cloud  over  love.  Now,  of 
these  three,  the  greatest  cloud  is  the  last.  It 
is  a  sad  thing  when  a  man  'is  compelled  to 
say,  "  There  is  no  ground  for  religious  bdief." 
It  is  a  sad  thing  when  he  is  compelled  to  say, 
"There  is  no  ground  for  human  hope."  But 
the  saddest  of  all  things  is  when  he  is  com- 
pelled   to    say,    "  There    is    no    ground    for 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.         283 

brotherly  love'*  There  was  a  time  when 
this  order  of  comparison  would  have  been 
greeted  as  the  wildest  of  paradoxes.  There 
are  ages  known  to  history  as  "the  ages  of 
faith."  This  means  that  in  those  days  there 
was  no  sin  deemed  so  bad  as  the  sin  of  being 
a  sceptic.  In  our  day  the  greatest  of  all 
sins  is  deemed  the  sin  against  love.  And  I 
feel  sure  that  this  latest  judgment  by  earth  is 
the  permanent  judgment  in  heaven.  There 
is  no  cloud  deplored  like  the  cloud  over  my 
love — over  my  power  of  loving.  The  Church 
has  often  lamented  ''  advanced  views."  What 
my  Father  laments  is  my  contracted  views — 
the  contraction  of  my  heart.  An  eclipse  of 
faith  may  come  from  larger  light ;  an  eclipse 
of  hope  may  come  from  transcending  my 
environment ;  but  an  eclipse  of  love  means 
a  spiritual  decline.  My  Father  fears  when 
I  enter  into  this  cloud. 

My  soul,  leave  not  thy  first  love!  I  will 
not  say,  leave  not  thy  first  faith  !  The  first 
faith  is  not  always  the  best ;  thy  thought  of 
the  Father  may  be  purified  by  the  fire  through 
which  it  passes.     I  will  not  say,  leave  not  thy 


284        Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

first  hope !  The  first  hope  is  not  always  the 
best;  thine  earliest  dream  of  Paradise  may 
be  a  selfish  dream.  It  is  written,  "  Whether 
there  be  prophecies,  they  shall  fail/'  Our 
first  prophetic  hopes  generally  do  fail;  the 
man  would  scorn  the  ideals  of  his  childhood. 
But  thy  first  love,  thy  morning-  love,  that 
ought  not  to  die !  I  would  have  no  cloud  to 
come  over  the  vision  of  thy  heart.  If  thou  wilt 
keep  that  vision  clear,  there  will  be  no  want 
to  thee.  There  may  be  starless  nights  to  the 
eye  of  intellect ;  the  old  tongues  may  cease  in 
which  faith  once  expressed  itself.  There  may 
be  starless  nights  to  the  eye  of  fancy;  the 
old  prophecies  may  fail  in  which  hope  once 
delighted.  But,  if  thy  tove  remain,  the  eye 
of  the  heart  will  not  be  starless.  The  heart 
can  see  in  places  where  the  reason  has  lost 
its  sight,  where  the  fancy  has  become  blind. 
Destroy  these  temples,  and  in  three  days  love 
shall  raise  them  again !  It  will  give  thee 
back  thy  faith  ;  love  believeth  all  things.  It 
will  give  thee  back  thy  prophecy ;  love  hopeth 
all  things.  It  will  give  thee  better  than 
either  faith  or  prophecy — power  to  wait  with- 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.         285 

out  them  ;  love  endureth  all  things.  Never 
let  out  the  fire  of  the  heart !  Though  nerve 
be  low,  though  sense  be  feeble,  though  judg- 
ment be  groping,  though  fancy's  wing  be 
weary,  yea,  though  virtue  itself  be  erring, 
keep  that  fire  ever  burning,  and  all  the  rest 
shall  be  added  unto  thee.  Leave  not  thy  first 
love,  O  my  soul ! 


THE    RETICENCE    OF    THE    BIBLE. 

**  It  doth  not  yet  appear  what  we  shall  be."  —  I  John 
III.  2. 

What  singular  modesty  on  the  part  of  an 
inspired  man — of  a  man  who  lay  on  the  very 
bosom  of  the  Lord !  "  It  doth  not  yet 
appear."  I  should  have  expected  such  a  man 
to  say :  "  It  all  appears  to  me  very  clearly ; 
I  have  a  revelation  from  the  Holy  One  which 
is  denied  to  common  m.en/'  Mohammed  said 
that ;  he  gave  a  detailed  description  of  heaven. 
Hundreds  of  visionaries  have  said  that ;  they 
have  seen  the  curtain  lifted  and  the  mysteries 
of  God  revealed.  But  the  man  who  was 
nearer  than  all  others  to  the  Source  of  eternal 
life  is  content  to  say,  "  It  doth  not  yet  appear 
what  we  shall  be  *M  I  think  this  is  a  typical 
silence — typical  of  the  whole  Bible.  Men 
often  say  that  the  evidence  of  the  Bible  is  the 


Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours.         287 

things  it  tells  us.  Doubtless  that  is  one 
evidence.  But  I  have  often  thought  there  is 
another — the  things  it  does  not  tell  us.  The 
speech  of  the  Bible  may  be  golden,  but  its 
silence  is  at  least  silver.  Many  a  book  pro- 
fessing to  bring  tidings  from  God  would  have 
mistaken  imaginings  for  realities,  would  have 
published  the  dreams  of  the  heart  as  the  very 
descriptions  of  heaven.  The  Bible  commits 
no  such  mistake.  Its  reticence  is  sublime — 
as  sublime  as  that  of  the  starry  sky.  Enoch 
speaks  not  in  his  translation  moment.  Elijah 
speaks  not  in  his  chariot  of  fire.  Lazarus 
speaks  not  in  his  hour  of  resurrection.  The 
child  of  Jairus  speaks  not  on  her  bed  of 
revival.  The  youth  of  Nain  speaks  not  from 
his  arrested  bier.  Moses  alone  does  speak 
from  beyond  the  grave  ;  but  it  is  not  of  the 
things  beyond;  it  is  of  the  things  "to  be 
accomplished  at  Jerusalem." 

I  thank  Thee,  O  my  Father,  that  the  glory 
beyond  does  not  appear.  If  it  did  I  do  not 
see  how  I  could  remain  here,  and  live.  I 
think  a  sight  of  Thy  glory  would  paralyse  me 
for  earthly  work.  If  my  earthly  work  were 
done  I  should  desire,  I  should  require,  a  sight 


288         Leaves  for  Quiet  Hours. 

of  Thy  glory.  But  it  is  not  done ;  I  have 
my  task  to  finish.  And,  having  my  task  to 
finish,  I  am  afraid  of  any  message  that  would 
divert  me  from  my  task.  I  am  afraid  to  get 
a  sight  of  the  streets  paved  with  gold.  I  am 
afraid  to  catch  a  strain  of  the  harps  on  the 
glassy  sea.  I  am  afraid  to  receive  a  breath 
of  that  air  which  brings  no  hunger,  no  cold, 
no  oppression,  no  dying.  I  am  afraid  to  get 
a  sense  of  the  littleness  of  time,  of  the  small- 
ness  of  the  things  for  which  men  fret  and 
strive.  For  I  have  still  to  transact  these 
little  things — still  to  frequent  the  exchange, 
still  to  seek  the  market-place,  still  to  apply 
for  the  appointment,  still  to  agitate  for  the 
movement  of  the  hour.  I  should  not  like 
these  things  to  be  too  much  overshadowed; 
I  should  not  like  to  see  their  nothingness  in 
the  light  of  the  world  to  come.  Therefore, 
my  Father,  I  bless  Thee  for  the  cloud ;  I 
praise  Thee  for  the  mist  on  the  hill ;  I  thank 
Thee  that  what  I  shall  be  does  not  yet 
appear. 


DATE  DUE 

^ 

VJikMiPiMil 

1 

CAYLORD 

PRINTEOIN  USA 

1  1 


012  01004  6706 


II    ! 


•Ill  ■;:■.;;!  :l 


